The wind is tremendous. It howls and rushes. The trees and their branches in the backyard are bending at their waists. I’m surprised the pines haven’t cracked. Pines have shallow roots. Today is warm, in the high 50’s, and it could even reach 60˚. I’m home bound today with an empty dance card.

When I was a kid, we had a toaster, and that was about it for kitchen electrical. That toaster was notorious for burning toast. I remember using a butter knife or a fork, my preferred tool, to pull out the toast stuck in the toaster. Crumbs fell all over the counter and floor from my determination to free the toast. I never gave any thought to the combination of electrical and my fork. I was a kid. What did I know? I never ate the burnt toast.

My mother later got a Sunbeam mixer, one of those black and white ones. It sat on the counter for years before being replaced by a food processor. The toaster became a toaster oven. Progress marched into my mother’s kitchen one appliance at a time.

My mind’s eye can conjure familiar routes and count the lights. Take a left at the fifth light. If you ask me where I live on Cape Cod, I’ll point to my elbow. We determine distance by time. How far to Boston? About an hour and fifteen minutes. We don’t tell you east or west, and once you’re over the bridge, you’re on your own.

I just heard a buzz then another buzz. The biggest fly I’ve seen in a very long time has found its way to my den, a sort of refuge I guess, but I figure it won’t be here for long. Usually the buzzing flies find a closed storm door, and I’m always happy to open the door and free the fly, but I’m suggesting it move quickly. Jack likes to eat flies.

Yesterday was winter. Even though I wore my fleece top over a flannel shirt, I was still cold. It was mostly a run to and from the car. I finished three errands, and if I add the stop at the ATM, we’re talking four. I haven’t been to the bank in months. This is the first time in a long time I’ve money in my wallet. I even used it.

I watched MSNBC this morning. A governor from some state with a huge covid outbreak was being interviewed. He said he knows masks work, but there is no evidence that mandating masks work. I’m glad I don’t live in his state.

I remember getting shots before I started school. My smallpox shot was on the top of my leg instead of on my arm. When we visited my aunt one time, I was out playing and tore off the scab-like cover of the shot. I cried not because it hurt but because I was afraid of needing to get the shot again. I didn’t.

My life in Ghana was filled with shots. We got them before we left, when we arrived, every six months and when unexpected major diseases were rampant. Besides the shots, Peace Corps also expected, maybe demanded, we take Larium, mefloquine, an antimalarial, every week. It tasted awful if you didn’t swallow fast enough. I took the pills during the rainy season when insects, especially mosquitos the size of birds, filled the night air. During the dry season, not a bug was to be had. It was wonderful. Under a basket lamp shade hanging from my ceiling was a spot of light on the floor. In the rainy season there were so many bugs under the light you couldn’t see the floor, in the dry, none. I stopped being compliant in the dry season. I didn’t get malaria. Peace Corps looked unkindly on volunteers who got malaria.

Last night I went to get something to drink in the kitchen. On the way I got distracted by some dust and a crooked picture. I sleeved the dust and straightened the picture then went back to the den. I had forgotten I wanted orange juice. After I had sat down, I realized I needed my juice so back to the kitchen. While I was there, I rearranged the kitchen counter. I also remembered to get my drink, ice tea, not juice.

Today is fall. The sun is hazy. The air is chilly, left over from last night’s cold. Every now and then a breeze blows the topmost branches. Birds are in and out at the feeders Henry and I filled yesterday. Henry loved being out with me and kept running on and off the deck. He was panting by the time we went back inside the house.

I need to go out today. I should have yesterday, but I just didn’t want to go; instead, I busied myself around the house, busy being relative. I moved a few things off the counter then moved a few more things to make storage room for what I took off the counter. My life is a domino effect.

When I was growing up, everything at home just happened. My clean clothes mysteriously appeared in my closet and drawers. While I was at school, my bed was made. When I grabbed my lunch box in the morning, it was filled with my lunch, my always tasty lunch. Floors were vacuumed and tables polished, all in secret. Like the shoemaker, we must have had elves.

When I was a kid, I wasn’t afraid of too much, maybe just the man with the hook. I knew spiders ate bugs so I liked spiders. Even now, I’ll help get a spider out of the sink before I turn on the water. I used to sing the ladybug song when one landed on me. I’d gently puff at the ladybug so it would fly away. I loved the way the ladybug’s wings folded. Last summer I bought ladybugs and let them go in the front garden so they could dine al fresco.

“Ladybug ladybug fly away home,
Your house in on fire and your children are gone,
All except one and that’s little Ann,
For she crept under the frying pan.”

Last night the wind came first. I watched from the back door. It was so wild the leaves were falling like rain from the trees in the backyard and the huge tree near the side of the house. Its curled, yellow leaves fell on the roof. When I surveyed my estate this morning, I saw my driveway is covered in red and yellow leaves. The deck has disappeared under a blanket of dead, brown leaves. My lawn is a combination of leaves and pine needles and very little grass.

After the wind came the rain. The drops were loud and heavy. I remembered I had left my car windows cracked a bit, but I wasn’t about to race outside in the dark and into the rain to shut the windows. The seats will dry.

My bird feeders are just about empty, but I bought sunflower seeds so I’ll fill them later, and I’m going to add a feeder I found hanging under the deck. I might also do a wash of the animals’ afghans and my bedspread, but my track record with laundry is rather dismal.

When I was a kid, the first thing I did when I got home from school was change and go out to play, but once the cold weather set in, I didn’t go out. I played in the cellar, watched TV and read. I did my homework before dinner as I always did. Every night after dinner, I watched TV until bedtime.

Growing up, I was never really into fashion. I wore a uniform to school so I didn’t have a huge closet of clothes, but in my mind it was a glut of clothes. I had blue jeans as we used to call them, casual girly shirts, some sweaters, a sweatshirt or two, not hoodies, a pair of play shoes and a couple of Sunday dresses.

In Ghana I had to wear a dress every day everywhere. I did have a pair of Bermuda shorts which I wore around the house during the three digit heat of the dry season, but I would never have worn them in public. I have never been as dressy as I was those two years.

Right now I am in my uniform of the day, of most days. My red sweatshirt is from a Red Sox World Series championship. My flannel pants are a blue and black plaid. That makes me sound fashionable, but trust me on this, I am not. Each of my clod slippers has a hole right at the big toe, but they are so comfortable I hate to toss them. I wear them outside. Seriously, who would peek at my toes in Agway or Ring or the dump?

The morning is cold. The sun is so bright I could barely see to navigate. Today I’ll be out and about. I need to buy animal food. Henry needs cans and treats. The cats need cans and a cardboard scratching post sort of thing. The birds need sunflower seeds. Quite a birds have been in and out of the feeders since I last filled them. As for me, I want a couple of new plants for the house. Most of my plants have thrived but a few died and I never replaced them. Their empty pots sit on the shelf. It’s kind of sad. I have a few plants rooting in bottles in the kitchen. They’ll so be ready for pots. I want all of the pots filled again.

Last night I was sitting in my usual spot. The TV was on but only as background noise. The only light came from the lamp on the corner of the metal table in front of me. I had shut my computer and was reaching for a magazine from a pile on the table when it struck me. This room, this lamp, this computer and this table make me happy. The light shines on everything. The top of the table has three piles. Two of the piles are books I will be reading. The third pile has magazines and catalogues and my iPad. My laptop just sits by itself. There is plenty of room on the table. It is huge. Three baskets are under the table. They’re filled, but I do keep finding room for recipes I cut from the newspapers or tear from magazines. I do leave this room, but mostly if I’m home, this is where I’ll be. I watch TV, Christmas movies this time of year. Henry sleeps on the couch. Jack is on the chair. Last night Jack snored so loudly Henry looked up to figure if he should bark or not. He didn’t. Last night is my typical night.

I have a Viewmaster. It is not the one I got for Christmas one year, but it looks exactly the same. I have several reels. I bought most of them on line. I picked places I’ve been and TV programs from when I was young, programs like Rin Tin Tin and Circus Boy. I have a reel of Eisenhower’s inauguration and the Queen’s coronation. I even found a Ghana reel. The pictures were a bit earlier than my Ghana, but I knew places. I recognized buildings. That was so amazing.

Every now and then I enjoy looking at my Viewmaster reels. They jog my memory. They make me smile. The colors on the reels are beautiful and bright. I usually remember to pull the lever down just right or it’ll miss the sprocket, and I’d see cardboard, no picture. I’d have to pull it out, turn it a bit then put it back in the viewer. It is skill you never forget.

Today is filled with sun though a bit cooler than it has been, but it is fall and cool weather is the usual. When I let Henry out earlier, I could hear my neighbor’s blower clearing the leaves and pine needles which fell during the rain storm. Lawns are hidden and everything else is covered. Even the street has a layer of pine needles all along its sides. This is a bit like Saturdays when I was a kid, but back then I’d hear the scrapes of rakes not the intrusion of blowers.

People are decorating for Christmas yearning for colors and bright lights, for something to hold on to, for something familiar, for tradition, expectations and hope. Count me among them.

Yesterday 10 turkeys were wandering up my street from the pond where they sometimes roost. They got to my front garden and started nibbling. One of them got behind the fence and started eating, a yellow light bulb, an unlit yellow light bulb. Across the street my neighbor came out and used his cane to scare the sole turkey off his lawn. The turkey ran across the street to his brethren, to the refuge of my yard. The crowd moved on shortly after that.

My friend Peg called yesterday and we talked for an hour. We laughed for an hour. She caught me up on life in New Hampshire and told me about the deer in her garden. Peg was outside and near, but the deer didn’t move. Peg spoke softly and watched the deer who didn’t mind. It finally bolted into the woods as deer do. They always look spooked to me, graceful but still spooked.

The fall display in the pot on my front steps has finished its best life. The pumpkin on the brick in front of the display has been nibbled. There are bite marks all around. That needs to go. The pumpkin in the display is okay, but the gourds artistically placed around it are rotting. I’m not even sure I want to touch them.

I am inured to most smells, as in odorous smells, and sights. I don’t even notice most times, but rotting gourds gross me out. It’s weird.

The rain has continued but barely. It’s only spitting rain as my mother used to say. My front garden, the deck and the driveway are covered in wet, brown leaves. Even the street has a layer of leaves. The weather report calls for rain on and off all day. I won’t complain. I like the rain, and the Cape is still in drought conditions.

When I was a kid, I didn’t count the days until Thanksgiving. It was a minor holiday in the ranked echelons of kids’ holidays. We got time off from school and ate a massive dinner Thanksgiving dinner but that was it.

My father used to go with his father to the local high school Thanksgiving Day game. My dad had no allegiance to the school, but he loved the tradition of Thanksgiving football. The rest of us stayed home and watched the parade.

Jack is lying on an afghan behind me on the couch back. He is lightly snoring. Henry chased poor Jack today. The cat waddles and escaped only because he got to the area in the den where Henry has never gone. That’s crazy too. Just last week Henry went to opposite end of the couch than where he sleeps. That was a first. Henry is not adventurous.

Henry welcomed Lee and Rosana, my cleaning couple, yesterday at the door. They are biscuit givers. They love him and have tried over and over to make friends. They finally did yesterday. Henry barked at their car in the driveway. He barked when they got to the door, but when they came in, he went right up to Lee and sniffed. Later Lee patted and scratched Henry’s head and neck. I’m happy as Lee and Rosana are the only people, other than people like Skip who come and go, that Henry has seen since March. He and I have limited social circles. Actually, his is bigger than mine.

The rain started lightly yesterday afternoon but last night I could hear it on the roof. It is still raining, and when the house is quiet, I can still hear it hitting the roof. The tree next to my house was filled with yellow leaves yesterday morning. Today, after rain and a bit of wind, the tree is almost bare. Yesterday Skip, my factotum, and his helper Bobby came by to shut the deck for the winter (painful to write). They cleared the leaves first, but the deck is covered again. When I look out the window, I can see a shower of leaves falling every time the wind blows.

Skip and Bobby also put up my outside Christmas lights on the front fence, and they decorated a front bush with giant ornaments. The bush is lit by a floodlight. Last night half of the front lights lit, the half connected to the always lit star light. I went out to turn on the other side. Tonight I’ll be patient and see if the lights come on with the timer.

When I was a kid, everything about Christmas made me giddy. My father and mother always chose the tree. My mother was into full branches, no bare spots. I remember my father setting up the tree ahead of the decorating so its branches would fall. The house smelled best at the holidays, at Thanksgiving and at Christmas.

Alexa made me proverbially gag this morning. She wished me a rainy day filled with rainbows. If she had started to sing The Rainbow Connection, I’d have lost it.

Despite the morning Alexa greeting, my favorite day is a rainy day, a not so dark rainy day but a rainy day which needs a bit of lamp light. My house always feels especially cozy on days like today. In the living room, only the corner light is lit. Over the sink in the kitchen, it’s the ceiling light. Here in the den the table lamp shines on everything I write or read.

I loved being in school on a rainy day. I could watch the rain hit the windows. Everything felt slower. The classroom sounds seemed subdued, tampered by the rain. Mostly I could only hear the rustling of book pages as they were turned. Lunch was the busiest part of the day. We walked around to buy our milk. We talked while we ate. We stayed in for recess.

Today I have no errands. Skip took my trash so no dump run. I have plenty of food and have a couple of new books. Today will be quiet. I think you’ll only hear the rustle of pages, the click of Henry’s nails and dialogue from an old movie.

Fall is still holding sway. The day is warm and sunny, at 64˚. The low will be in the mid 50’s tonight. Skip, my factotum, is coming either today or tomorrow. That means he’ll do the dump run. I am saved. He’ll also shut down the deck, and I’ll have him get the Christmas lights ready for an early debut this year. I need the colors and the lights and the expectations they bring.

Today I am watching It: Chapter Two which isn’t as good as the original film, but I am in the mood for a change from politics.

This is the time of day when I have the den all to myself. Gwen never comes down anyway so she is asleep upstairs. Jack joins her for a late morning nap but on his own end of the bed. Henry is also upstairs, but he is in my room with the bed all to himself. I know he stretches. Henry sleeps with me at night.

When I was a little kid, my adventures were close to home. The field below my house was my favorite place. The grass grew so high it was up to my waists, but there was a permanent path made by all of us following the same route through the grass to the woods. On hot summer days the field was alive with grasshoppers and noisy insects. At night it was lit by blinking fireflies flickering on and off. It was a magical place.

The swamp was a border. It was as far as I could wander when I was little. I remember the front of the swamp was clear of any brush or grass but had a slick of green. It was where we skated in winter. It was where we watched polliwogs dart in the swamp water close to the shore in the springtime. I would lie on my stomach on the grass at the water’s edge and watch the polliwogs. I saw them grow and one day they were gone.

Today is another warm, lovely day. The sun is squint your eyes bright. The yellow oak leaves on the backyard trees seem to glow in the sunlight. The birds are in and out of the feeders I filled yesterday. Most of them are chickadees, the state bird of Massachusetts.

Last night I heard a bang in the back. Henry was with me on the couch. When he heard it, he jumped up and ran to the back door barking the whole time. This is the exact moment in the plot when I turned into a B horror movie star who ignored the warnings and went anyway. I got to the kitchen, turned on the back light and opened the door. No one jumped out at me wearing a hook or a mask or carrying a lethal weapon so I kept going. Henry followed. I thought he should be first, being my protector and all, but he was so close behind me he stepped on the back of my slipper. We got to the back, and I saw what had happened. A spawn had run across the deck rail and knocked flower pots over from the rail to the ground, a good distance. Only the the dish under the clay pot couldn’t handle the fall and broke into pieces. I’ll pick up the pot later.

When I was a kid in grammar school, we alternated between having a nun or not having a nun. All the not nuns were women, older women. My very favorite teacher was Miss Quilter, my sixth grade teacher. I remember she wore really thick glasses and white blouses with bows at the neck. I also remember wanting to learn everything from her.

My dance card is empty for the next few days. Wednesday is the first day with an entry: my uke lesson. I have another entry on Thursday, an appointment . That’s two this week. I’ll probably need a nap.