Today is dank and overcast, but it is cooler than yesterday and far less humid. Showers are predicted. The high will be 65˚.

I alternate between sweating far more than a lady should and then needing my sweatshirt because I’m cold. I haven’t had my morning coffee yet. I don’t feel up to par as my mother would have said.

My freezer is full, but I forgot to defrost anything. I miss my hot dogs. They are always my go to meal. My second go to meal is eggs. Those I have. I even think I have some bacon. Sounds like dinner!

I order in once a week. Last week it was a total meal with potatoes, meat, vegetables and warm rolls. It lasted two full dinners.

Yesterday I watched World War II movies, it being D-Day and all. Many were filmed during the war and served as rousing salutes. One movie, 1000 Plane Raid, I watched with a bit of nostalgia. The only other time I saw it was in Niamey, Niger during my Peace Corps days. The embassy there showed movies every Saturday night, and because I was always hungry for a movie on the big screen, I went to watch. That I stayed the whole time is a tribute to my forbearance. Last night, despite that memory from so long ago, I watched it again, in entirety. I’m now thinking my not feeling up to par might be a residual from watching 1000 planes raid, one really bad movie.

My plans for today are simple. Do nothing. I may shower, but I make no promises. After all, I’m not expecting company.

Last night it poured. I had my bedroom window open so I got to hear the raindrops. It was a tough night. I had trouble getting to sleep. It was close to five when I last checked the time. Jack was with me. I think Henry was downstairs, but when I woke up, Jack was gone. Henry had taken his place.

Today is disgustingly humid, leftover from the rain. The air is so thick I swear I can see it dripping (a slight exaggeration acceptable under the circumstances). Once in a while, the leaves are blown about then they just sit. Thunderstorms are predicted.

I didn’t get my dump sticker. I didn’t include a copy of my registration. I’m going to have to find a place that makes copies. I have until June 15th to get the sticker.

I feel out of sorts, a bit disconnected. I find myself talking to the animals and the TV. Henry waits until I finish then he wanders. Jack jumps up for pats as does Gwen when I visit. I tend to raise my voice at the TV, never the animals.

Henry wouldn’t come into the den. He had a look, one I recognize and hate, his fearful look. His tail was between his legs. When I see that, I always figure something happened, and he thinks he’ll get punished. I looked around. Henry had thrown up on the living room floor. I cleaned it up then gently told poor Henry what a good dog he is. His tail finally wagged. He is a happy dog again. I wish I could find the people who did this to him, to my sweet boy. He is on the couch now and is deep asleep.

I have declared today a cleaning free day. Let the dust abide.

The rain is light. It was expected. The temperature is 69˚. The low for the day will be 62˚. I’ve been out and about the last two days so I’m staying home today though I still need to buy flowers and herbs for the garden and the deck boxes. I’m thinking Monday.

Yesterday I swept then washed the kitchen floor, just in time for today’s rain and new Henry paw prints.

Henry keeps chasing poor Jack. He jumps at him and purposely lands right behind Jack all the way down the hall. Poor Jack’s little legs move so fast they’re a blur. Henry is having fun. You can see it in his face. Poor Jack jumps on the table, his sanctuary. I pat Poor Jack, and he always falls asleep purring.

My big chore for today is to put all the lantern glass through the dishwasher. Yesterday I noticed how dusty they are, especially the ones in the dining room. I’m thinking this is a symptom. Seriously, who makes plans to wash lantern glass. How bored must this woman be?

Saltines were a stable of my childhood. I used to crush them into my soup, and I used so many the liquid was always absorbed. My father, my sister and I ate canned sardines on Saltines. I find that disgusting now. I can still see those headless fish crammed into the can and packed with olive oil. How could I have eaten those fish? Saltines slathered with peanut butter were a favorite snack of mine. Sometimes I made a fluffernutter with the crackers when I added marshmallow. Why this cracker conversation you’re probably wondering? I bought a box of Saltines, but I didn’t buy any fish.

Today is another warm, sunny day. I have to go out again in a bit, but I’m not complaining. The traffic on the side roads was light yesterday. It took me only fifteen or so minutes to get to Hyannis, and I never waited more than a single light cycle.

I was on the deck with Henry for a little while, but he got bored and went back inside through the dog door. He has used the door to come inside twice already today, but this afternoon, he’ll revert and look through the door for me to come and open it. He drives me crazy with that door.

The white lights on the deck rail died so I had to order some. Meanwhile, at night, Henry would not go out on the dark deck until I turned on the back door light. Seriously, he wouldn’t go out. He’d just stand there looking at me. But as soon as I’d turn on the light, out he’d go. Last night, the new lights were lit so Henry was out the dog door. I had to let him in.

The cleaning schedule for today is vacuuming downstairs. I just saw a dust ball which could wreak havoc on Earth should it get loose.

I did have a few sloth days in a row. I just couldn’t bring myself to do anything. Staying inside was taking its toll. That’s when I forced myself to make lists again. I figured I needed a purpose. Yesterday I had a list of places I needed to go. I finished four out of the five.

The cats have been with me nearly a year. Henry has been with me 2 years. Gwen wanders around up stairs and often comes down a few stairs to meow at me. Every night she waits for my final visit. I pat her, and she is a purring machine. The two cats get treats then I fill the dishes and clean the litter. I noticed I need to vacuum the littered floor again. Walking on it gives me a beach vibe.

Today is sunny and warm with a breeze. It will be in the low 60’s, but I don’t care. I’m bored. Yesterday I went upstairs to get my sweatshirt and ended up cleaning the bathroom, even the tub. Sheer madness must be next behind bathroom cleaning.

When I was a kid, I’d whine to my mother about being bored. She’d tell me to go out, but it wasn’t a helpful suggestion. She wanted me and my whining gone.

If Jack were a llama, he’d be ready to be shaved. I’ve been removing more clumps from him. If he sees scissors, he runs.

Last night I ordered dinner. Once a week I pick a restaurant for delivery. It is my treat for lasting another week stuck in the house with no human contact. On those nights, I do eat well. Last night it was Italian from Alberto’s in Hyannis. I dined on manicotti shells stuffed with lobster, shrimp, scallops, parmigiano, pecorino romano, & ricotta cheese topped with tomato, béchamel & mozzarella and I ordered a side of garlic bread. I used a cloth napkin. I wasn’t just eating. I was dining.

When he was really old, Duke, our boxer, used to sleep in my room. My bedroom was on the first floor so he didn’t have to use stairs. He slept on the fuzzy white rug, the one with a corner chewed off, compliments of my hamster when the rug got too close to his cage. Duke used to make noises. He’d lick parts of his anatomy, and it drove me crazy, but he was old and deserved to enjoy his life so I just put the pillow over my ears.

My mother never made us eat food we didn’t like, not even forcing a taste or one bite. You all know I don’t eat beans. Mostly I don’t eat oval shaped beans like Lima, kidney or black beans, lots of oval beans. I eat green beans, but I don’t think of them as beans. They look like pods though not Invasion of the Body Snatchers pods. I’m glad of that.

Tomorrow is a busy day. I have a Zoom uke class in the morning and, in the afternoon, a doctor’s appointment. I can actually go there. The office is in Hyannis. I’m breaking out.

I have a weird sleep pattern. I am an extreme night owl. I am awake until 2:30 or 3:30 then I sleep until 11 on most days. My sisters make jokes when they call, always after 11. “Did I wake you up?”

This morning, around 2, I couldn’t find anything I wanted to watch. Disaster movies seemed too real, the same with zombie movies. I ended up watching a World War II movie for about 20 minutes until I got bored. I think I had seen that movie, but even if I hadn’t, I knew the ending. I looked through my photos next and that got me thinking about Ghana. I wrote this around 3 AM. I called it Memories:

When I was twenty-one, I was brave. 

In Ghana I had a motorcycle. It was only a Honda C50, a series I don’t see any more though I expect there are probably many on the roads in Ghana. I loved my motorcycle. It was the freedom to go where I wanted. My first trip was when I bought it. I had to ride it from Tamale to Bolga, a trip a bit over 100 miles. Before I left the Honda dealer, I had to learn how to ride, use the brake and shift gears. That first ride was amazing. 

Every morning, in Ghana, as I was waking up, I could smell wood fires. I could hear the poundings of mortars and pestles as breakfast was being prepared. I could feel the heat. All my senses were alive to the mornings in Ghana. 

I played a game in Ghana. I know it has a few different names. You’ve probably seen the board which has two sides, with holes on each side and beans or small stones in the holes. In Ghana it is called an Oware game. It was usually played with the beans. I have an Oware board, a very old one, but it never helped me. I seldom won. I couldn’t see all those counts in front of me. The game in Ghana was usually played at tables and chairs outside a local bar, not like our bars, different somehow. I’d sit down and watch. They’d have me play a few times. I always lost. They were kind.

I changed the background on my computer. It is now the same photo I posted today of the inside of the bus we rode from downtown Philadelphia to the airport to get our flight to Ghana in June 1969. I can see myself, and I can see people I’d soon meet: Emma, with whom I’d be stationed for only a year, and Roger and Dale who would be posted together near me in Navrongo. Kalman, standing in the back, would not make it home. Every guy wore a shirt with a collar and many wore ties and a few wore jackets. We wore dresses or skirts and blouses as the information sheets had directed.

At the hotel, I had brought my luggage downstairs. From then on the guys took care of it. There were a lot of guys. They piled the luggage on the sidewalk then passed it along from one to another to load the luggage in the back of the buses. They unloaded at the airport the same way and left the luggage on the sidewalk. We’d next see the piles of luggage at Kotoka Airport in Accra. Nobody lost luggage. It was a charter flight on an airline with just us.

It is the longest flight in time I have ever taken. That seems right somehow.

The sun is glinting through the leaves. The sky is blue and clear of clouds. The wind is blowing. It is 62˚, just about the high for the day. I have tentatively scheduled a dump run. It depends on my mood.

Yesterday I ran the dry mop through all the downstairs rooms and picked up the clumps of fur. I sleeved the dusty tables. I do need to wash the kitchen floor, and I’ll do that later today. Every day I clean. Dust is endless.

I bought some ice cream, some mint chocolate chip. For a long time that was my flavor of choice then I switched to mocha chip. I think I have some hot fudge in the fridge. I’m working toward a sundae.

My father worked for an ice cream company, for Hood’s. He became the manager in Hyannis which is why we moved to the cape. His building was at the north end of Hyannis. That first summer we lived here, I’d hitch to Hyannis, wander around and then get a ride home from him. The bookstore was my favorite place to loiter. It was in an old house, and each room had a different category of books. I remember the travel books were in the back by windows which looked on the yard. There was a merry go round on the lawn outside the door. Across the street was a Grant’s and a Zayre’s. Back then downtown Hyannis had plenty of stores. There was and still is a penny candy store. In the old days, the candy was really a penny. Now it is a nickel or a dime. I wonder why they still call it penny candy.

Harry’s was the name of the restaurant which much later took over my father’s building. I brought my mother there for lunch. My father’s office had become part of the kitchen. It was a strange transformation. We ate Cajun.

Today the skies are partly sunny. It rained last night. The high could reach the 70’s. The low will be in the 50’s, probably tonight. I’m staying home today. Tomorrow is dump day because I don’t have my new sticker yet. I did leave my application, the check and a SASE at the town hall.

Last night I was sitting here in the den. The table light was on. It cast shadows on the wall. The windows was open, but it was quiet. Jack was sleeping on the chair and snoring. Henry was curled in a ball at the end of the couch and was also sleeping. It was a perfect moment.

I never saw the launch or the landing on the moon of Apollo 11. I listened to it on the radio during Peace Corps training. One giant leap lost a bit being just audio.

Yesterday I gave Henry a running commentary of my day just to hear my voice. Henry was not impressed by my conversation so I called my sister, but there was no answer.

When I was a kid, I was a wanderer. I loved riding around. Sometimes, now, when I visit my sister, I take the familiar routes of my childhood. I drive from school to Washington Ave. and my house. The route is the same I took every school day for eight years, but the settings have changed. I remember the cute house where two of my drill team friends lived. That is gone now, replaced by a brick apartment building. I think I would hate it if my house disappeared. The railroad tracks and the station house are gone. The trains still ran when I was a kid. My old house is the same except the trees and bushes are so tall. They were barely taller than I was back then. Uptown has changed and lots of restaurants have taken over. The movie theater is still there but has been renovated for plays. An Indian restaurant sits where the Children’s Corner used to be. An Asian fusion restaurant is around the corner. A Thai restaurant is down the street from the square. The China Moon is where it has always been. My sister and I have tried them all. I am partial to the Thai restaurant first then to the Indian.

I feel as if I’ve gotten dressed, but I didn’t. I took a shower and put on clean around the house clothes. That’s about as dressy as I want to be.

Some time during the night it rained. The day is still dark, damp and cloudy. 64˚ will be the high. I need to go out to shop a bit, cat food mostly.

My freezer is filled. I’ll defrost something for dinner, maybe chicken. I’m thinking to add it to pasta. This, however, is only a possibility.

When I was a kid, my aunt, who was married to my Uncle Lorrie who owned a fish market, introduced me to pasta with clams. I liked pasta, and I liked clams so I gave the pasta a try. It was delicious though a bit odd tasting. I haven’t had spaghetti with clams since. I never see it on menus, and I seldom make spaghetti for myself let alone spaghetti with clams.

When I was a kid, my father introduced my sister and me to steamed clams. My mother thought they looked so gross she left the kitchen and wouldn’t watch. We’d take them from their shells, take off the neck skins, dip the clams first in the hot clam juice from the pot to get the rid of the grit then into the melted butter. Satisfying ums as you eat are voluntary, but they usually escape from my lips unbidden. Horror of horrors! OMG!! My mother would only eat fried clam strips. I pretended not to know her.

I love hot dogs. My sisters make fun of me as I could eat them for dinner night after night. I always use a top loading roll. Usually I toast the rolls, but sometimes I slather them with butter and brown them in the skillet with the hot dogs. I often boil the dogs. That’s how my mother cooked them when I was a kid. They are also great barbecued with a good bit of brown. Topping choices are many. There’s chopped onions, any kind of mustard, relish, piccalilli, chili and cheese. Notice I didn’t list ketchup. It doesn’t belong on a hot dog: on a hamburger yes, on a hot dog no.

Henry and Jack are napping upstairs. Henry is probably on my bed while Jack is on the bed in the cats’ room where Gwen hides out. They’ll be downstairs in a bit.

I’m going to get settled and watch Insectula. I haven’t ever heard of this movie. “Giant insects from outer space are drawn to Earth in search of blood.” That description alone caught me. It seems our world is the perfect environment for these ugly beasts. I do not know a single member of the cast. I think I’m about to watch the first victim. Swim! Swim!

What a beautiful day it is. The sun is hot, and the breeze, dare I say the wind, is keeping down the humidity moving in ahead of tomorrow’s rain. It is 76˚.

In a movie I watched lately, I heard the police officer say, “It’s your dime.” I am part of a generation which understands that allusion. My mother and my aunt used to call the family whiners sorrowful mysteries. My grandnephew Jack was the last to wear the mantle. I wonder how many of my family knows the source. It is part of the Catholic rosary.

My father had peculiarities. The dry cleaner is a cleanser. Some Saturday’s he went to Woburn, the next town over, to go the packie. My town was dry, no booze was sold, but conveniently, that packie was maybe 10 minutes away. He always said down cellar, not down the cellar, and so do we. The remote control was always the clicker. He never said wicked, that belongs to a younger generation.

Two incorrect grammatical constructs are common here. As a former English teacher, I wince when I hear them. The first is, “so don’t I!” as in I love vanilla ice cream. So don’t I. Then there’s the ever popular, “She don’t or he don’t”

My mother was the idiom queen. I think she got a degree from some obscure college which caters only to mothers. “Because I said so,” was supposed to stop us in our tracks. It didn’t. No, I wasn’t born in a barn, and I didn’t go blind sitting too close to the TV despite repeated warnings.

My father was threatening, “Don’t make me turn this car around.” He also employed the old, “Stop crying before I give you something to cry about,” but he never did turn the car around or make us stop crying.

The end of childhood doesn’t come easily. Santa and the Easter Bunny disappear. I missed Santa the most. I still got my basket compliments of my mother who was as renown for her Easter baskets as she was for her Christmas stockings, but I liked the idea of a rabbit.

I believe the exact end of childhood happened when I knew my mother was making it all up. All those warnings about beaches and eating, wet hair, wearing a hat and eatings carrot were concerns about our health. None of them were real. They were loving.