Yesterday’s rain was heavy at times and has given way to a chilly, damp morning. Clouds cover the sky, but the sun is supposed to be here by the afternoon when we’ll jump from the current 50’s to the low 60’s. Fallen leaves are all over the driveway and the backyard. Most of them are yellow. Fall is firmly entrenched.

When I was a kid, fall meant darkness came early so we had shorter afternoons for outside playing after school. My mother didn’t care about the time. She cared about the streetlights. We’d usually watch TV until dinner or do homework if we had anything but mostly we didn’t. I remember watching Superman, not a bird, not a plane but Superman. I can still remember the whole opening. I had a lot of questions. How did Lois and the rest never recognize Superman as Clark without his glasses? How come nobody noticed he was wearing something under his suit and did he go back for his clothes?

Supper was usually around six. We ate at the table. We would rather have eaten in front of the TV, but that was only a Saturday morning treat. I remember the Melmac dishes, especially the ones with a sheaf of wheat as the design. They never broke, but they did crack usually straight across the middle of the plate. My mother had one or two of those plates for years. They had been free at the supermarket, a dish a week. I remember the gravy boat.

My weekdays were mostly the same when I was growing up. My mother would shout up the stairs to get us out of bed. She usually made us a hot breakfast. My favorite was dropped eggs on toast which I found out later were officially poached eggs. My other favorite was soft eggs in eggs cups. I ate the oatmeal, lumpy and palatable with only lots of sugar and milk. I always drank cocoa. My mother also made tea and served it in a teapot. While we ate, she made our lunches.

There are three concerts this week, but I will probably only play at two of them. Practice and my lesson will finish off my uke for the week. I do have a list of chores but they are suggestions.

The sun is on hiatus. We have clouds, and rain is expected this afternoon. It is warmish, in the high 50’s, where it will stay, even tonight. Nothing is moving in the still air. It is Sunday quiet.

I’m considering tours to my upstairs. I washed and waxed the bathroom floor, the hall and down the stairs. Everything is shiny bright. I don’t know how all of that started. All of a sudden I was sweeping the floors, washing the floors then spreading floor wax. Today I wanted to continue with my mad behavior on the floors down here, but the rain is a perfect reason to let my sloth hold sway.

When I was growing up, my favorite Sunday dinner was roast beef. We didn’t have it often so it felt special. My mother cooked it medium well but there was always a hint of red in the middle. She covered the top with onions slices which browned in the oven and were always coveted. Roast beef demanded mashed potatoes slathered in gravy. My mother made great gravy, always smooth and thick. I remember it pouring out of the gravy boat. We had a couple of vegetables, often peas and corn, niblet corn. For dinner, we sat at the table together, my father at the head. My mother sat but more often hovered.

I carried the Sunday dinner ritual with me to Ghana. It was special. We ate local food bought from a chop bar in the lorry park. The chop bars were lined up on one side of the lorry park. They were small buildings with inside, uneven tables or two which tottered and with mismatched chairs or benches. The cooking was done in the back. We always did take-out. We’d bring two pots, one for the fufu and the other for the soup, and carefully bungee them to the backs of our motos. We had learned to eat Ghanaian food with our fingers, our right handed fingers. The technique was to pull off a piece of fufu then drag it through the soup. My favorite was okro soup, as they call it in Ghana. I didn’t even know okra existed until Ghana. Often we would buy a Cadbury chocolate bar and a Coke to make Sunday even more special. The DPW had a store around the corner where we bought our goodies.

Now, I sometimes cook dinner for myself but mostly I scavenge from what is in the fridge. Today I have some sliced ham and in the counter basket, a sweet potato. I also have some peas. Sounds like dinner to me.

It is a bright, sunny day. Fall warmth will continue today. The high should be 68°. That means deck weather with a good book and a cup of coffee. The dogs stay out longer in this weather. Nala lies in the sun while Henry sniffs and wanders the yard.

Saturday has always been my favorite day of the week. When I was a kid, it was my day to wander, to bike ride even as far as the zoo, to see a movie or ice skate. When I was older, my friends and I usually spent the evening together. We’d bowl, or sit around and play board games, go miniature golfing and sometimes even go to a nighttime movie. When we became mobile, we go to the drive-in or drag our toboggan to go sledding. In Ghana, I’d go to town where I’d shop at the market hoping for some finds or to buy cloth. I’d stop for lunch at the Hotel d’Bull, the hot spot in town. Kebabs were cheap, and the hotel always had cold Coke, a rarity. When I was teaching, I never did school work on a Saturday. I didn’t correct papers or prepare lessons. It was my official day off. Sometimes my friends and I would get together for dinner or games or just to spend time with each other. Since I’ve been retired, I always say every day is Saturday.

I finally got my Oreos. I decided to forego the traditional, was brave and went with the Halloween orange cream. The package glows in the dark. I mean, really, who can pass up a glow in the dark Oreo package?

I went to St. Patrick’s Grammar School from grade one to grade eight. I never went to kindergarten. No one I knew did. Almost everyone in my neighborhood went to St. Pat’s. The East School was the nearest public school, but I never expected to go there. St. Pat’s was an old brick building. It had opened in 1910. The Sisters of Providence started teaching there at the start and were still there when I went into first grade. I found the nuns intimidating. I think it was their black habits which covered everything except their faces and hands. They didn’t seem like regular people. They were nuns, their own category.

Last night my neighbor’s back light was on but not their house lights. My lights were all on, the string of white lights on the deck rail and the lights in my house. All the other houses were dark. I stood on the deck for a bit when the dogs last went out. The night wasn’t quiet. I could hear crickets. There was a bit of a chill in the air but my sweatshirt was enough. It got colder by the time I went to bed. Each day has been similar, warm during the day and chilly at night. Soon enough chilly will be the weather every day.

We’re in for another beautiful fall day, in the high 60’s. The sun is bright. Nala is out. She has her sleeping spot in the yard in the sun. Her fur is warm when she comes inside. Last night when it got down to the 40’s, she snuggled. I think she is epitome of creature comfort.

I was entertained last night by really bad black and white science fiction movies, my favorites. First up was The Slime People. It was released in 1963. The second was The Beach Girls and The Monster. I think I just gave away the whole plot.

When I was a kid, I had a TV in my bedroom. It was an old one my parents had replaced with a new TV for their bedroom. It was portable but not small or light. It had a handle on the top. The TV sat on my bureau, and I could lie in bed and watch it. I used to watch a program or two before going to sleep. I remember The House of Wax, a released 3D movie. One scene scared me so much I ran into my parents’ room. Vincent Price was the bad guy. He wore a wax face to cover scars from a fire and nobody knew. His House of Wax figures were actually dead people whom he had murdered. At one point the main female character, Sue, recognized the face of one wax figure as her friend Cathy’s. It was made from her corpse. Sue whacked Price and his wax face fell off. That sent me running.

On the beach, the soon to be killed girls all wore swim caps. Some caps were decorated with rubber flowers on top. I remember having to wear one at the pool. It was hot to wear and sometimes difficult to get off if the inside got wet. They were never attractive.

Somehow thinking about those caps has led me to garter belts. I remember fastening the tops of my nylons to the belt with clips. They kept the nylons from slipping. I also remember the times when a clip flew out of my hand and hit me in the leg. It was painful. The garter belt was never comfortable.

I used to have to curl my hair with foam rollers. Mostly I’d wear them to bed. When I did, I didn’t sleep well because my head couldn’t lie flat on the pillow. I’d toss and turn all night. When I complained about it, my mother said, “Pain for beauty.”

Today is sunny and should get to almost 70°. It is another say goodbye to my sloth days as I have a list of chores. Top of the list is washing floors, the small floors, the bathroom floors. I also need to vacuum and water plants. I really hate to do housework yet here I am inundated with housework. I want a fairy godmother just like Cinderella’s who will grant me some wishes or maybe transform a few mice into cleaners. I’ve got the mice.

The other night on my way home from practice a coyote crossed the road in front to my car in a residential area. The coyote was small, smaller than my dogs, but he looked healthy. He was quick across the road. Today it was a rafter of wild turkeys, maybe 10 or 12. They were munching and paying no attention to the cars whizzing by them. The turkeys have been a common sight the last week or so.

Last night I played a slide show of my Ghanaian pictures. I took my time. The first picture I remember well. It was the morning after we had arrived in Ghana. I was on the second floor of the dorm in Winneba. I looked out and saw my first palm trees. I saw tin roofs atop houses, atop what I came to know as family compounds. The roofs were rusty. The compounds were clay. I think that is when I realized I was actually in Africa.

We stayed in Winneba two weeks. We were busy all day with informational lectures and intensive language training. We had a day of shots against anything and everything. Another day we went to greet the chief. At night we’d go across the street to a spot, a bar. We played whist mostly and drank Cokes. It was just a time to unwind. We were at this first place for two weeks. At the end of this phase of training and before the next, people left. I didn’t get it. Two weeks seemed such a short time to be in Africa, to experience a whole different culture and to feel the joy of living there.

When I was in the 8th grade, I followed the presidential election between Nixon and Kennedy. I went to Kennedy headquarters and got pins I proudly wore. He was an easy choice. Kennedy was from Massachusetts, of Irish descent and Catholic, all of which we shared. His religion became a problem which I didn’t really understand. He faced anti-Catholic bias being the first Catholic to run for the presidency. It was feared that he would be loyal to the Pope instead of to his country. He dispelled the fears. I watched the debates. I didn’t know much about all the topics. I learned a bit. I learned about Quemoy and Matsu. These many years later, those two places are still stuck in my memory drawers. I wish they would go away.

The weather is just about perfect. Fall is giving us her best. The days are sunny, bright and warm, in the 60’s. It is still short sleeve weather. The nights are down to the 50’s, usually perfect for sleeping, but I have two dogs in bed with me who radiate a lot of heat. I keep my bedroom window open.

The leaves are changing. A few trees in my backyard have red leaves with tinges of orange. My neighbor’s bush is all red. The cranberries are being harvested. Some newly harvested cranberries are already in stores packaged in plastic bags. I’m thinking whole berry cranberry sauce. I’ll have to get some.

Nala tried to steal my sugar pumpkins. They were on the floor near the door. I found the bigger one in the hall. I checked. No fairy godmother had turned it into a wheeled carriage. The other sugar pumpkin had migrated to the dining room. Luckily, they were too heavy for her to carry too far. I moved both of them. I got them at the farm stand yesterday. I also bought a large pumpkin for the outside steps and a multi-colored mum, also for outside. They are the perfect dressing for my stairs.

When I was a kid, choosing the right pumpkin to make a Jack-o-lantern took effort. I had to turn the pumpkin to make sure both sides were rounded and had no marks. It needed a stem, a long curved stem. After picking up and turning several pumpkins, I‘d find my pumpkin, bright orange, perfectly round and stemmed. When it was time to carve my pumpkin, my mother would cover the table with newspapers and set out the tools, a knife sharp enough to cut the pumpkin but not so sharp as to cut hands or fingers and a big spoon though I liked to use my hands to pull out the guts as we called them. I remember the strands of pumpkin studded with seeds hanging from my hand and fingers. It was wonderfully gross.

I always think of fall as the season of pies. The apples are out, so many different varieties, so many shades of red and green. When I saw them piled in the store, I thought of apple pies and apple tarts. My mother made great apples pies. The crust was browned and flaky. The top crust shined from the egg wash and the sugar crystals. The pie was tall, high with apples. My father warmed his and ate it with cheddar cheese. I liked my pie plain though sometimes I did top it with vanilla ice cream. Pies never lasted long in our house.

The weather is a leftover from last night’s rain, cloudy, damp and only 59°. The weather, though, says sun and a high of 70°. Of course it will be 70°. I put in the storm doors!

This week I have a few errands and appointments, but my dance card is mostly uke heavy with my practice and lesson and three concerts. I think I need to rest. I’m thinking a nap or two will be in order.

Yesterday, my sloth was seen leaving my house, small suitcase in hand and muttering to himself. I had disappointed my dear friend who had to witness the third day of my unexplained energy and the completion of long delayed tasks. It was the worst day for my sloth to watch. Let me explain. First, I hauled down a large box from Jack’s room. It was heavy with used litter and trash. I brought it to the car. Next I brought up the storm doors from the cellar, one at a time. I washed them and then lifted them into the doors. That was the hardest. They were so heavy I had to use my knees, my hands and my head. My knees held them half way up the door until I could lift them into the door frame, my hands held them, and my head kept the doors from falling as I turned the holding screws. You’d think I was done, but I am not. I emptied the Chewy box and had to slide the cases of canned dogfood across the floor as they were too heavy to lift. Next, I went to the dump with a filled trunk. I dragged and tossed the bags into the bins. Done? Nope! I drove down cape to Chatham and brought my laundry to the laundromat. By the time I was finished my laborious tasks, it was too late to write Coffee.

When I was younger, I did all my house chores myself. I used to lug in 50 pounds of cat litter from the car. I’d toss the bag over my shoulder and carry it upstairs. I’d fill my trash bags as much as I could then I’d take my trash to the car then to the dump every week. I’d even bring up both storms at the same time. That, however, was a long time ago.

I still think I can do the things I used to do. I even try and sometimes, like recently, even, with great difficulty, accomplish all my tasks, but I am being stubborn, not asking for help or maybe just not acknowledging the passage of time. I still have a lot to learn.

The sun is squint your eyes bright and is surrounded by the bluest sky. Little is moving. It is 65°. The day is quiet which surprises me for a Saturday. It is the perfect day to hunt for stolen objects in the yard. Another mouse trap has disappeared. It was baited with peanut butter, and I thought I hid it well, but nothing stays hidden from the intrepid Nala. I swear she’d find El Dorado.

When I was a kid, the future was only a few days away except for the countdown events like Halloween and Christmas. I never planned the weekends except on those winter days when I’d go to the movies. My theater showed a newsreel and a cartoon first. The movies were never first run. I saw The Wizard of Oz there in the late 1950’s. When it turned to color over the rainbow, there was a collective gasp from the audience as if we were watching something magical. The theater was always noisy, and we readily booed and cheered. Candy often flew through the air though Al, the owner, was vigilant. He was an aisle patroller.

I remember the back row of that theater. High school couples sat there. They were kissing which I found both disgusting and mystifying. I didn’t realize until much later they were young teens who didn’t drive and needed their own sort of lover’s lane, but a Saturday matinee seemed a strange choice.

My Girl Scout troop sponsored a nighttime fundraising movie event. We served as hostesses and wore our uniforms which were green skirts, white blouses, tams and our badge sashes. I remember how excited I was. Looking back I didn’t realize that it was a poor movie choice, one which didn’t bring in the crowds, Our Lady of Fatima. If she had been chased by a slasher, it would have been far more popular though probably religiously offensive, but I have been to Fatima. The streets surrounding the shrine are filled with kiosks and shops selling offensive but oddly appealing religious souvenirs. If I didn’t have to haul it in my suitcase for the rest of the holiday, I would have bought the ceramic statue of Mary on a hill surrounded by blinking colored lights. I still regret leaving it on the shelf.

I have a few errands today including the dump. I have been hauling bags down from upstairs one step at a time because they are heavy with used litter. They just need to be hauled or rather dragged to the car. Gone are the days of carrying two bags at a time to the trunk. I miss those days.

My storm doors will sit in the cellar. The weather today is the best of late summer with a current temperature of 75°. I’ve even opened a window. The slight breeze is enough for my outside chimes to play. The air is filled with sweetness of that sound. 

This morning, I brought trash to the car, swept down the inside stairs, carried laundry and coolers to return to friends to the car and then spent an almost endless time on the phone to refill prescriptions. First, I found out I had refills then I called the pharmacy. It is currently closed with no further information. I called another pharmacy in a different town. I waited 8 minutes on hold then 5 minutes with the phone ringing before I was disconnected. The air around me turned a bit blue. I spoke to the chat on-line and was able to switch pharmacies, order refills and also book my fall vaccinations. Not only all of that, I ordered groceries at 1 am this morning. They were just delivered and I put them away. Now in the scheme of things, my list may seem short, but, for me, it has been the busiest of mornings.

It is this time of year I most grateful for being retired. I get to sit outside in the sun. I get to have a couple of cups of coffee, read the Cape Times and do all three puzzles in the paper. I use those puzzles as barometers. When I complete them, I know my brain cells are still whirling and twirling. Anyway, I am thinking maybe a ride down cape is in order. It is the perfect day. I think this time I’ll take all lefts and see where they lead me.

When I was a kid, like most, families, we had only one car which my father drove to work every week day. On Saturdays he did his own errands, the Chinese laundry with his white shirts he aways wore with his suits, the barber shop for a trim and a few stops to say hi to friends at their stores. On Sundays, he ushered at church and sometimes drove us to my grandparents’ house. My mother didn’t drive. To close places, like uptown, she walked. Sometimes we’d take a bus to visit her sister and her family in Malden or a bus then the subway to East Boston and sometimes in-town to Jordan Marsh. Thinking back, we were like ducklings, trailing my mother or Madeline following the nuns. I remember wishing I had time for more than glancing looks at all the store windows and shops. I was the country mouse in the big city.

I have nothing actually scheduled for the next few days. I’m thinking the ride today and tomorrow the dump. That will give me something to look forward to say I with tongue in cheek.

The rain is gone. It is almost 70° but still cloudy though the sky is light from the sun hiding behind the clouds. The weather is fall perfect with warm days and nights in the 50’s. The leaves in my backyard have started to change. The prettiest yellowish red leaves are on one of the bushes over the deck. In the front yard, a few leaves have turned yellow. Yesterday the turkeys were out, and one mother had more already feathered babies than I have ever seen. Further down the road was a much smaller flock of full grown birds. They were all munching.

My family just left, my two sisters and my wonderful brother-in-law, Rod, the other half of the Colorado couple. They were not here for long, but it was the best visit. They got to see a uke concert. Rod loved it. They sang along with the Billy Joel, Elton John and Loggins and Messina music. We went out for a late lunch/early dinner then they hung around for a while here. We just came back from a late breakfast. They are now on their way north to Stoneham. The dogs were behaved well for company. Nala jumped a bit then calmed down. Henry allowed pats and lovings.

When I was a kid, I remember on the walk to school I could watch the leaves gently fall one by one to the sidewalk. They took their time fluttering to the ground. Always, the colored leaves fell first. I remember the sidewalk was strewn with yellow leaves, with piles for kicking into the air. I hated when the leaves got wet. They were soggy and turned brown. The school yard had lots of sand, left over from last winter’s yard clearing. It was never swept clean by the town trucks which swept the roads. I remember the truck’s giant brushes and the noise as the sand was pushed to the gutters. We had to be careful running on sand or we’d skid. Band-aid covered knees were common.

Fall suppers were always the same, potatoes, a vegetable and meat, often hamburger. We had Salisbury steak, hamburger dressed in gravy. I thought it was special. I loved mashed potatoes the most. We didn’t have French fries often in fall or winter. They seemed to go with summer, with burgers or hot dogs, except for Friday nights. We often had fish sticks with fries, the best meal out of the freezer.

My dance card is empty for the rest of the week. I do need to shop for a few items to hold me over until the big shopping. My list is complete. I think I just need to add Oreos, flavor yet to be decided.