The doors and windows are open. The day is cloudy, but I’m loving the 76˚ after the hot days we’ve had. The weather prediction is for rain tonight, possibly even thunder showers, and rain into tomorrow. If I stand outside and get wet I’ll believe it.

Yesterday I bought my replacement flowers. I’m going back today to get some more then I’ll pot them all. When I was paying, I was shocked at the price. The flowers were only a dollar.

The leaves are still. It is cloudy and a bit dark. I can feel the difference in the air from all that heat and humidity. I am no longer sweating in place.

I just ordered my mid-month fruits and vegetables. I only have a couple of lemons left, a mango and two unripe plantain.

I have become lazy. My meals are mostly sandwiches or eggs and bacon. I open the freezer, stand there and see nothing which looks appealing. I think that has more to do with my mood than with the frozen food. It is hot dog time.

Yesterday at Agway I loaded up on animal food and bird seed. I also bought a great new feeder which looks like an Adirondack chair. The spawns of Satan would think it an easy place to dine al fresco, but I’m going to dust the seeds in cayenne. It keeps the spawn away.

I have some blueberries. I’m thinking of muffins or even a cobbler. Henry likes blueberries.

When I was a kid, the only fresh fruits we ate were bananas, apples, oranges, tangerines at Thanksgiving and watermelon in the summer. It wasn’t until Ghana that I tasted strange, even exotic fruit. Pawpaw, better known as papaya, was delicious. It was the star in my every day fruit salad lunch. At first I thought mangoes tasted like furniture polish smelled. It took a while before I got over the first taste, but I did. Now I buy mangoes all the time. The only pineapples I ever ate before Ghana were in a can. Nothing is sweeter than a fresh, ripe pineapple. I don’t think I ever saw or even tasted fresh coconut before Ghana. Aunties sold it along the roadside. They’d use a machete to split the shell then cut it into small pieces to sell. You had to scrape the coconut with your teeth. The oranges were so wonderfully sweet. They were also green. I actually saw banana plants growing. They were in bunches hanging from the tree. When I went back to Ghana, I saw apples were being sold. I bought a couple. They tasted different but no less delicious.

When I lived in Ghana, I loved bush meat even though it was covered in cayenne. I’d eat it with bread. It was sold on kebab sticks, and I’d always get a couple, especially on the train. Years later I learned that bush meat was a rodent, a big rodent.

Today is a wonder. Right now it is only 77˚, and the humidity is actually bearable. I still need some plants. The heat has kept me from roaming the aisles at Agway, but Henry needs food so I have no choice. I have five cans of the food Henry won’t eat which is unusual as Henry seems to eat everything except kiwis.

When I was a kid, the only school shopping we did was for new shoes, school supplies, and, maybe, a new blue skirt or white blouse, my school uniform. My mother took us all to Thom McCan. We needed our feet measured. That was the only fun part. We got to see our feet in the x-ray machine then we stood on the silver slider. We got sturdy shoes to last the whole school year if our feet cooperated. We went to Woolworth’s for school supplies. I got to pick out a new school bag and a lunch box. I also picked out my new pencil box. I remember it had pencils, of course, an eraser, a pencil sharpener, a small ruler and a protractor, usually red. I never did find out what to do with protractor.

Before school started, I’d spend time organizing my school supplies. I’d put them on the bed and then into and out of my school bag over and over. It took time putting my supplies in the right place. I’d walk around with my school bag across my chest until it felt right. When I was happy with everything, I’d pretend to be going to school and would walk around the house with my school bag and lunch box.

When I was in the fourth grade, my friend Maryalyce who sat in front of me, I think, had the same lunch box. By then we had graduated from lunch boxes with cartoons and TV characters. I remember we both had a lunch box with a pattern, almost tartan. Miss Konopacker, our teacher, made us keep our lunch boxes under our desks. Maryalyce would switch boxes as a joke, sort of. Mostly she envied my lunches. My mother was a lunch box maven.

I have a lunch box and a school bag. They are quite the worse for wear. I even have a pair or two of sturdy shoes.

The heat and humidity are still around making life miserable. I gasped almost as soon as I opened the door when I went out to get the papers. To add to the misery I couldn’t find my papers at first. I even searched under the car. I cursed loudly a few times. Finally I found the papers hidden by greenery in the front garden.

The sky is cloudy, but it is hot at 81˚. A strong breeze is twisting small branches and blowing leaves left and right. There is a 51% chance of rain from Isaias. I’m hoping as we’ve had so little rain.

Henry won’t go out the dog door at night unless I turn on the outside light. It’s not really dark out there as little white lights are wrapped around the railing. He is always a bit wary.

I have a list of five errands and chores for today and tomorrow. The laundry tops my list. It always tops my lists.

When I was kid, my mother always had to iron our school and church clothes. As for me, I can’t remember when I last ironed, but I think it might have been 16 or more years ago, before I retired. My steam iron works well, as good as new, considering it was a house warming gift forty three years ago. My ironing board is also celebrating its forty third birthday. The other day my friend mentioned ironing her newly washed masks. I guess she wanted her entire ensemble unwrinkled.

The Invasion of the Body Snatchers, the original, is a favorite movie of mine. Kevin McCarthy plays the main character, Dr. Miles Bennell. He finds out people are being replaced by pods, and he runs to get away despite being chased by the townspeople, the pod people. Reaching the highway he sees a truck filled with pods and starts running up to cars screaming, “They’re here already! You’re next! You’re next!”

Today is errand day. The first stop will be the dump. The trash is already by the car waiting to be loaded. My favorite stop will be for flowers to replace the two dead ones in the deck pots. I’ll go to the farm store so I can also buy some fresh vegetables.

The day is already hot at 87˚. The low will be tonight in the mid-70’s. How anyone can call that a low mystifies me.

Every time I go out, even to the deck, I gasp at the heat. Last night around 1 AM I went out with Henry. The humidity was so thick it seemed to suck the breath right out of my lungs. I immediately turned around and went back inside the cool house. Henry wasn’t far behind me.

I haven’t spoken to anybody in a few days. I entertain myself with books and games. I watch the news until I can’t take it anymore then I switch to movies and old black and white TV programs.

The Cape Cod Central Railroad was a fun way to spend the day. The train passed marshes, and, in the fall, you could see cranberry bogs being harvested. The train used to pass behind the Barnstable House of Correction. Inmates would moon the train from their windows, but the Barnstable County Correctional Facility has been moved so no more mooning. My favorite train ride was for Sunday brunch.

My front garden is filled with newly bloomed flowers. When I go out, I stand by the car a while just to look at them. Flowers represent hope to me. Some bloom with so little care. I’ve seen flowers growing from the cracks of sidewalks. Wild flower gardens used to be planted along the side of the highway. They became a deterrent to speeding. I, often lead-footed, always went slower so I could see the color and beauty of those flowers.

In the winter I buy cut flowers with bright colors. They help combat the starkness of the season when everything is sleeping. I am partial to yellows and pinks.

Flowers remind us of a sort of immortality. That’s what I remember every spring when my garden comes to life.

The longer I’m stuck inside the house the worse my mood gets. I haven’t spent time with people in weeks. Poor Henry has to listen to me opine. He doesn’t seem to mind, but maybe it is because of the treats I give him afterwards. At least he looks at me when I talk to him. Nobody on TV ever does.

The sun is out. It is hot but not as hot as it has been. Even the humidity is bearable. There is a wonderful breeze, even a wind at times. I hope for some deck time today, but that depends on whether or not the idiot who lives behind me plays his music. It is always so loud it drives me back inside.

I keep watching the news channels. They don’t help my mood, but I do like seeing the rooms behind reporters on TV. One room, a kitchen, is a bit too monochromatic for me, but I love the still life on the island. There is a vase of sunflowers flanked by a pineapple and tomatoes. I have seen this room before. The tomatoes are new.

I washed my masks. They are wrinkled so I’ll iron them as I think one should not go in public with wrinkled masks. They are a fashion statement, and I am always one to be fashionable.

My house is cluttered. Boxes of new pillows for the deck furniture are in the dining room. A new rug for my bedroom is in the living room, in a giant roll too heavy for me to lug upstairs. I’m hoping to move the pillows outside. I hate clutter.

Henry is restless. He repeatedly goes up and down the stairs. He likes to nap on my bed. I can hear him jumping off just before he comes downstairs. Right now he is finishing his breakfast. I can hear him eating.

It is amazing to me how uninteresting I have become. I’m hard-pressed to chitchat. Talking about doing laundry or going to the dump just won’t hold an audience, even Henry gets bored with me.

Today I am Rip Van Winkle and that scholar who used to come at ten o’clock scholar but now comes at noon. I had not so great a night so I slept in, way in. I didn’t get up at noon, but it was close.

We have another pretty day today. Out my den window, I can see blue sky in between the leaves and the branches of the oaks and pines. Every now and then a leaf flutters. It will be a hot, humid day in the low 80’s. Tonight could be as low as 69˚.

When I was a kid, it was the best time to be a kid. I had my bike, my transportation around the world, around my small world anyway. I’d take off for the day with no destination in mind. If I packed a lunch, my mother knew I’d be out most of the day, but that’s all she knew. I never called with updates. I had no dime. Besides, I’d never have wasted a dime on a phone call. That was candy store or ice cream or Hostess money, a Suzy-Q or those chocolate cupcakes covered in chocolate frosting with the line of white squiggles across the top and with cream in the middle. They were enticing because there were two of them. I kept my lunch in the wire basket attached to the front of my bike. Sometimes the lunch bag fell out, but a sandwich can take falls just not feet. I never knew what time it was. I just knew when I was hungry. I’d park my bike, grab my lunch and eat it in the shade of a tree. I’d sit with my back resting on the trunk.

After lunch, I’d ride around some more. Where I went depended on where I ate lunch. I had routes I’d often take. On one side of town, I never biked beyond Weiss Farm and the cows. The zoo and the pool were other boundaries, the far reaches of my world. I didn’t bike to the other ends of town too much, the two ends with golf courses.

When I go to my old town, I often drive these routes I used to take. The pool and zoo are still around. The farm cows are gone but the farm is there. It’s boring now. All the small stores where I’d spend a dime are also gone. The phone booths with the dial phones are only memories. Bikes are in now but most don’t have wire baskets. Hostess cupcakes look and taste the same, but now, all these years later, they’re a dollar or more for a single package of two, but I’m thinking that’s a deal. I can’t remember the last time I had one, but now I have a hankering.

The rain came last night, or rather early this morning. I went to bed close to four, and it wasn’t raining yet. I don’t know how much it rained, but everything is still wet. The air is thick and redolent of crushed greenery and thick undergrowth. The leaves just hang off their branches. The sky is cloudy. Showers are predicted as is a low of 68˚. It is not a pretty day.

As soon as I heard today’s weather, a high of only 78˚, I turned off the AC then ran around opening doors and windows. Henry appreciates having the front door open so he can monitor the neighborhood. I wanted fresh air. I still want fresh air.

I need to dust mop the downstairs floors because fur balls fly in the air when Henry runs or I walk close to them. The clumps of fur are composed of Henry and Jack fur. My house was cleaned a week ago so now I have a timetable for the creation of fur balls. I wonder how Henry’s fur meets up with Jack’s. Yes, I am bored, but now I have a mission.

Yesterday I put all the trash in the trunk. It took me a couple of trips, but I still have a bag on the deck, a smelly bag, which won’t go into the trunk until Dump Day.

When I was a kid, trash barrels were put on the sidewalks to be emptied. Extra large or odd shaped objects were not supposed to go out with the trash. They were to be brought to a different site in town, a discard dump for all but trash; however, common knowledge back then was a six pack or two would guarantee the pick up of all trash, even mattresses. Townies knew this.

I have a hankering for a BLT, but I only have the B. The last time I was out was Monday, but I’ll venture out later this afternoon propelled not by the need for a BLT but rather for paper towels, cream and maybe a pizza or a quesadilla. I’ll decide when I get there.

Jack and Gwen are asleep upstairs in the Henry free zone. Meanwhile, Henry is restless. He roams from back door to front door. When my neighbor across the street opened his garage door, Henry started barking, happy I’m sure for the diversion. After I patted him at the door, he stopped barking, but he is still roaming. Poor Henry is bored. I commiserate.

I’ve definitely gone over the edge. I have been reduced to watching really bad science fiction movies and eating fruit. I just had a plum. I can’t even remember the last time I ate a plum. I think I was ten (okay, I don’t know. That was made-up, the ten year old me and the plum). Where are the brownies? Where are the chocolates? Why does everything I bought say certified organic? What is wrong with me?

The sun was around when I woke up, but it has since disappeared and has been replaced by clouds. Thunderstorms are predicted. The house is still cool. The AC has become a perpetual motion machine of sorts ( I know there isn’t a perpetual motion machine, something about thermodynamics. This is a metaphor). I wonder what Henry thinks when he comes inside to the cool house from the really hot outside. He must think me a magician.

I need milk and bread. Buying bread and milk whether you need them or not is usually an indicator of a coming storm, a storm of epic proportions, but I figure that’s just a coincidence. 

My cream can last one more day. My freezer is full. I just have to defrost the meat. Somewhere in the depths of my freezer is a rib eye that came from the organic store. I figure it means the cow ate grass. I have veggies and potatoes.

It is time go the dump, but I’m saving that fun run for tomorrow. I’ll also go to Ring’s for a few items and to Agway for a few plants to replace the dead deck flowers. What shall I wear? A summer dress with low slung heels? Yes indeedy, I have gone over the edge.

This is it, my wit’s end. I am watching a Hallmark Christmas movie. The main character just wished for snow on Christmas Eve. I’m with her!

I went out yesterday. I finished my only errand then added one other stop to soothe my body and spirit, the chocolate store. I chatted with the owner a bit then carefully made my choices: small peanut butter cups, two chocolate truffles and two dark chocolates with marshmallow and caramel.

Today is hot again. It is 89˚ and the high will reach 91˚. A thunderstorm is predicted. I really hope so.

I’m watching the worst movie, Sharkansas Women’s Prison Massacre. Their jail outfits are short, short dungaree shorts and midriff white t-shirts. One prisoner has already been eaten. They think she escaped even though they found her bloodied white shirt. So far that’s been a high point for this movie.

When I make temporary lists, I use sticky paper and press the lists to my table here in the den. Right now the only list I’m working on is for groceries. I also keep notepaper on the table for more permanent jottings like movies I want to watch, books I’d like to read, recipes I want to make and anything else I figure I’d forget otherwise.

Yesterday I spoke to Grace, one of my former students, to wish her a late birthday. She lives in Accra but spends far more time in Bolga. It is the rainy season in Bolga. Grace said it had rained all the day before. I loved the rainy season. It was like a miracle unfolding. I watched the parched ground become dirt again and the fields green. The compound behind my disappeared when the millet grew tall. In the market, tomatoes and onions made their reappearances. The nights felt cooler. All three times I have been back to Ghana it was during the rainy season.

It is another stay at home day. I’m happy for it.

It happened yesterday. We hit 90˚. I missed it as I’ve been inside the house staying cool. Right now I’m even wearing a sweatshirt. I could turn the AC down, but I won’t because the house gets hot so quickly, and I love feeling cold.

I read the papers intently. That takes up a good amount of morning time and two cups of coffee. I gave up on the news channels. Beside being repetitive, they are dour. Mostly I watch movies. I like hearing the voices. Sometimes I even pay attention to the action.

Henry is driving me crazy with his barking. I have to go open the front door so he can there is no one outside and no cars on the street. He then quiets down for a good 5 or 10 minutes then he’s up again aimlessly roaming. Right now he is sleeping on the tile floor in the kitchen. I figure he is nice and cool.

Last night I had scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. It was delicious. Earlier, I had taken hamburger out of the freezer, but it still wasn’t defrosted so I went with the eggs. I wasn’t disappointed. I yummed.

Every morning in Ghana I had two fried eggs and two pieces of toast for breakfast. I also had really bad coffee. The eggs were fried in groundnut oil, peanut oil to us, and the toast was slathered with margarine, not butter. Over time I came to love that breakfast, and I even enjoyed the coffee. I think my tastebuds had disappeared in the heat.

My gas tank is filled, and I have money in my pocket, but that means little these days. I seldom drive beyond a few miles close to home. I shop on-line for my groceries. A delivery of fresh fruit and produce is scheduled in a couple of days. It is a new service for me. They even sent a brightly colored chart showing how to store fruit and veggies. I moved my lemons to the counter.