This time the lateness of the hour isn’t my fault. My iPad did not charge last night so I have been waiting patiently by the plug. Okay, I admit it was impatiently waiting. I was a bit unnerved when I saw what had happened. My iPad is my only link to the cyber world so losing it would be beyond tragic. I don’t have the resources to buy a replacement. It is usable now, but I am on edge.

At 9:30 every morning, my Alexa wakes up, tells me the date, the time and the weather. Sometimes I hear her but most times she is a background hum of sorts. This morning I heard her 9:30 report. She predicted rain would start in a half hour. That is accu-weather at its most brazen. I fell back to sleep and woke up at 10:15. It was raining. Way to go, Alexa. It is still raining. I can hear the drops. The house is rainy day dark so I have lit all the twinkling lights in the living room and the pepper lights in the kitchen. They are perfect to light a rainy day.

Last night I saw my sloth walking down the driveway with a battered brown suitcase in his paw. He was wearing a brown vest and a jaunty hat. He looked over his shoulder at the house as he left the yard. I was heartbroken, but I knew the reason. Yesterday I cleaned the dining room. I’m talking dusting or polishing everything. I’m talking clearing shelves to clean all the glassware. The spiders’ webs which numbered in the thousands are gone, but the spiders have been left to build again. The tablecloth has been changed. Now a fall runner decorates the table. All the dog hair tumbleweeds have been vacuumed. I’m sure it is no surprise that I took a nap yesterday afternoon.

When I was a kid, my mother did all the house chores. The bed was made, the laundry done, the dishes washed, and the house dusted and vacuumed. She made every meal. I didn’t even know how to work a washing machine. Once, when I did a load of layndry, the machine started buzzing, I didn’t know what that meant. I took out every piece of laundry and wrung it then put it all in the dryer. Later, I asked what had happened and was told the load was unbalanced. I felt silly and a bit stupid. In Ghana I paid for my laundry to be done. All of it, except for my unmentionables, was washed by hand and hung on lines to dry by Thomas. The unmentionables were my responsibility.

Today I rest.

The weather is fall perfect. It is 72° and beautifully sunny. The light glints through the still green leaves. A slight breeze blows the smallest branches. My house is chilly. It holds the cool air from the nighttime when the temperature goes down to the mid or low 60’s. I do have two dogs with me in bed every night who keep me warm, but I pay for that. They take up most of the room.

This morning I spent some time on the Coffee dashboard. I checked the map to see which countries had the most viewers. I was astonished to find number one is China by a wide margin. The US is second. India had one viewer.

Saturday has always been my favorite day. When I was a kid, Saturday had a pattern. I was up early, filled my bowl with milk and cereal, usually Rice Krispies, then I’d plunk down in front of the TV to watch cartoons and TV shows like Fury, Sky King, Sergeant Preston, Howdy Doody and Kukla, Fran and Ollie. I’d watch a while then grab my bike to start an adventure. I never had a plan. I just rode. If something caught my eye, I’d stop. I’d eat lunch on the road. Sometimes I went to the library. When the weather changed and fall fell into winter, I’d go to the matinee or ice skate or go sledding if we had snow. I filled my Saturdays. I loved Saturday nights as we got to stay up later. When I was older, I’d sleep in on Saturdays. In the afternoon, I’d sometimes meet friends. On Saturday nights we’d get together often at one of our houses. We had fun being together.

In Ghana, Saturday started slowly. I’d have my breakfast then maybe read a little or write letters home. I’d go into town. If it was market day, I’d shop the tables. I’d bring my stretchy shepherd’s bag and fill it with fruit, tomatoes and onions and beef from the meat market. The bag got bottom heavy. Before I got my motor cycle, I’d start walking home. Someone always stopped and gave me a ride. Saturday nights were my favorite nights. It was a fun night. One Saturday night might have tribal dancing. Each tribe would have its own spot for their tribal dancing. I’d wander the school grounds and watch. Once in a while they’d be a movie compliments of the USAID guy who would periodically drop by my town. I remember the movie that showed flies walking in poop then walking on food. It was a cartoon. My students loved it. Another night was in the dining room with all the tables and chairs moved out. It was a dance night. Music boomed, and my students, all females, danced with each other. They sang along loudly. I remember them singing at the tops of their voice, “Say it loud. I’m black and proud.”

I’ll stop here, and keep you on the edges of your seats as to the Saturdays when I was older. I will admit I now enjoy a nap on Saturday afternoons.

Last night was clear and wonderfully breezy and cool. The insects were singing, and I could hear a bird. The dogs were active. Henry jumped off the couch a few times and ran to the door. Nala followed. I don’t think she knew why, but she was willing to back Henry. Both of them barked for a bit then went back to the couch.

Today is sunny and warm, already 79°. It is a quiet day. Thursday seems to be an insignificant day. It just blends into the rest of the week. I do have a dentist appointment later, just a cleaning, but I don’t think it gives Thursday any prominence.

When I was a kid, I never went to the dentist unless I had a tooth ache. The visit always started with me biting on the red tab which then covered the spots on my teeth where I wasn’t brushing well. A brushing demonstration from the dentist usually followed. I liked my dentist as he always used gas. I remember the mask on my face. I remember the weird smell. I could hear muted voices, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. When I was brought back from oblivion, I was glad I had missed it all.

Before I went to Ghana, I had to have a dental exam and have any teeth needing attention fixed. I found a dentist in Lawrence. My father said he’d pay the whole bill because I had rotted my teeth on his time, but forever after, it was on me. It took a few visits. The only thing we didn’t have time for was a tooth cleaning. He didn’t use gas, but I survived.

School started this week. I followed a bus which seemed to stop at every street. Little kids got off. Their parents were sitting in cars or standing on corners waiting. I remember my first day of school. My mother walked me to school. She had my two sisters in tow and pushed a carriage. The walk to school was easy. Most of it was a straightaway. After that first day, I walked with some neighborhood friends. I never got lost.

On my first day of school in Ghana, I was nervous. The walk to the school compound took maybe 3 minutes. My house was right by the back gate. Each class had 35 students. They sat at tables for two. The windows and doors were free of glass or screens. Occasionally a goat dropped by to visit. The bathroom was across the compound. A student would raise her hand and tell me she needed to urinate. Outside my classroom were bushes. One time my students were throwing rocks at the bushes. I wondered why. Come to find out, they were trying to kill a snake. I got through my first day, but at the end of the first lesson, a student raised her hand and said, “We didn’t hear you, madam.” They didn’t understand my English. Theirs was a sort of British English. Mine was pure American. I needed to learn to speak Ghanaian English. It took a while.

We have been blessed with another lovely day, a perfect weather day. It is 75° with a bright sun, a cooling breeze and a deep blue sky. While the dogs were in the yard, I stood on the deck and watched them romp, well, Nala romped while Henry plodded.

I’m going to reenter the world today. I’m going to dress in outside clothes and leave the house. The last time I was out was Wednesday. Since then I haven’t needed anything, and I’ve been content in my cozies. I have uke practice tonight and during the week a lesson and two concerts.

When I was a kid, the first week of school was, at first, exciting, then exhausting. All day was regimented. After the freedom of summer, being stuck at my desk except for recess and a class bathroom visit, each of us in line waiting our turn while the nun kept the line moving, was difficult. I felt restless. My classroom, though, was mostly quiet except for the sounds of kids shifting in their chairs, the occasional rustling of papers and the nun in front giving instruction. No one spoke out of turn or dared to whisper because retribution was swift and public. It didn’t take long for us to fall into the familiar pattern of each school day. We knew we were stuck.

I followed the changes in seasons when I walked to school and home again. At the start of school, all the trees were heavy with green leaves which gave shade and protection from the rain. When the leaves started to turn color, we knew winter was banging on the door. The first fallen leaves were yellow and red. I’d pick up perfect leaves to save between ironed sheets of wax paper. Soon enough the leaves covered the sidewalks and piled in the gutters. The mornings got chilly. The trees grew barer and barer. Winter announced itself with frost on windows. I could see my breath on frosty mornings. The walk to school was cold. I always thought winter was the longest season. Spring arrived when small buds appeared on the trees over the sidewalk. My eyes welcomed that first sight of green after a dull, dark winter. I got to watch the leaves grow.

I watch the change in seasons still. I watch the trees in my backyard. Right now they are heavy with green leaves. The whole yard is shaded, but fall will soon come. The clues are there. The nights are chilly, and the early mornings hold on to that chill. I’m keeping my eye out for the first fallen leaves. They are red.

Coffee is quite late today. It was a mirror under the nose sort of morning. I slept until after noontime, well, we slept until after noontime, the dogs and I, as the night was cool and perfect for sleeping, and I had gone to bed well into the wee hours. I was going to skip Coffee today given the lateness of the hour, but I decided to write anyway.

Today is Labor Day, summer’s last hurrah. It was our final day of freedom. School started on Tuesday. I was ready. The summer had started to drag by the end of August. The playground closed so no more crafts or sports. I was left to my own devices. I rode my bike uptown and around town, even to the zoo. I went to the library to stack up on books. I hunted balls by the golf course. I rode around the lake. I filled the days.

The fourth grade was my last year in the old school. I loved that school with all its dark wood, the tall classroom windows on two sides of the rooms and the cloak rooms. A hand bell was always rung for the change of classes, recess and the end of the day. It was rung from the very top floor by one of the eighth graders. The bell had a sweet sound.

For the first half of my fifth grade I was bused to the next town over. I’d walk to school then wait by the driveway behind the church for the buses. We always lost time and had a shortened school day because of the rides to and back. The new school opened for the second half of my fifth grade. My classroom was on the first floor on the school yard side. The halls were lined with lockers. The rooms had bookcases under the windows. The desks were light wood. I felt the difference. It was a new school with no warmth. Later I realized we were the ones who would give it warmth, the warmth of memories, of the stories we’d tell over and over. The punch I threw during recess to defend my friend in the fifth grade was the stuff of legend. By the eighth grade we were a rowdy bunch. Sister Hildegard was a star in our memories. By the time we graduated from the eighth grade we had embraced the new school. Our escapades had given it some character, some colorful memories and lots of funny stories.

A long sleeve shirt is the order of the morning because the house is chilly. I can feel a breeze coming from my back door, from the south. Outside is warmer. The sun is bright. The day is pretty.

When I was a kid, Sunday was a real day of rest. My neighborhood was quiet. Saturday was the noisy day, the day for the sounds of lawn mowers and of rakes pulled across the cut grass. The lawn mowers were hand mowers. They clicked. The backyards were busy on Saturdays. The wash was hung on clotheslines to dry. All the duplexes up and down the street had their clotheslines in the back, and on my street the backs of the houses faced a grassy hill. You could stand by the clotheslines and see all the backyards in a row, in a straight line down the street. They all looked exactly the same. Little kids, like my two younger sisters, played in the backyards.

Sunday was different, always quiet. Everyone, often whole families together, went to church. The pews were sometimes filled so people stood in the back. I liked standing. I got credit for going without having to do anything. My father ushered at an early mass. After mass, he’d buy the Sunday paper and donuts. As soon as he’d get home, he’d change out of his suit and sit in the chair by the picture window to read the paper. I used to read the Sunday comics. I’d lie on the rug to read them. I never went exploring on Sundays. If I went anywhere, it was with the family. Sunday was the least interesting day of the week.

My sister reminded me old age is not for the faint of heart. I am limping. I again hurt my right leg. I moan when I move, when I walk. Nala is sympathetic. She wags her tail at me and gives me kisses. Henry is disinterested in my plight. The other night I must have slept wrong as my neck hurts if I look to the right. I seem to be falling apart one piece at a time. I’ll keep a list.

We had sun then clouds then the sun came back but only for a bit as the clouds right now seem more insistent. The breeze is strong. It is 73° and won’t get much warmer. Nala and Henry are asleep on the couch, their usual morning ritual. I am about to have my second cup of coffee and maybe an English muffin. I have fig jam.

When I was a kid, even common things filled me with awe. Back then I didn’t know the word awe, but I knew the feelings which seemed to defy description. They filled my everywhere. I knew that clouds and stars and the sun and moon sometimes stopped me in my tracks. I’d lie on the grass and watch the clouds. I’d see a dog or a head or a horse and more as the clouds moved. At night I’d check the man in the moon. Many nights his mouth was open as if in surprise. I could see the Milly Way on clear nights when stars filled the sky, and their light made shadows on the ground. Sunsets were orange and red and yellow. The colors filled the whole sky. In the morning the sun slowly rose with more of it appearing as it grew bigger and brighter. Sometimes the sun and moon shared the sky. I imagined their conversations about how everything went as one took over the sky from the other.

When I was older, I got busy. My view of the world shifted, got more grounded but no less wonderful, just different. I was into clothes, though not much, nights out, movies, music and hanging around with friends. They were the best friends. We laughed a lot and found ways to entertain ourselves, to find adventure, to celebrate life. I remember in high school we sneaked picnic food in our school bags to the top floor of the library and ate sitting on the floor surrounded by the stacks of books. We wandered Harvard Square, visited the museums and saw movies at the Brattle Theater. We were explorers.

Since then my life has gone through so many cycles. I could spend days describing Ghana and the wonder of it. I have so many stories about the high school kids I once taught and the ones who got sent to my office. I love all of them.

I am so much older now. I now count my life in filled dance cards. Awe has returned. I pulled my car into a rest area last week so I could watch the sunset. The sky was pink. I stand on the deck and some mornings can smell the ocean. I do nothing some days and love every lazy minute. I can actually play a musical instrument. Life still surprises me.

The day is beautiful. The darkness of yesterday has given way to a bright sun and a blue sky. It is 74°, a perfect temperature. Last night was cool, down to the mid 60’s. I easily fell asleep.

When I was a kid, fall meant darkness came earlier every day. After school there wasn’t much time to play or bike ride or wander a little before the streetlights came on, and we had to go inside to get ready for supper. We’d watch TV while my mother finished getting supper ready. I remember the sound of her mashing the potatoes. The masher would clink when it hit the side of the pan. The hot vegetables were in pans sitting on the stove. They’d be corn or peas or green beans. I remember ground beef in gravy topping the mashed potatoes. That was one of my favorite suppers. I’d mix in the peas. It wasn’t pretty. We’d watch TV after supper. My father always came home late, too late to sit with us at supper. He was a salesman, and his territory was the south shore, a long ride away. In my mind’s eye I see him wearing a top coat and a fedora when he came in the front door.

Because at this time of year the mornings kept the evening chill, my mother would force me to wear a sweater to school because my uniform blouse had short sleeves. I’d ditch the sweater for the walk home. After school, every kid in the world had to change from school clothes to play clothes. I’d change into girls’ dungarees, the sort with a zipper in the front pocket, a jersey, a light jacket or a sweatshirt and sneakers, dirty white sneakers with pointed toes. Sometimes, when it got colder, I’d wear flannel lined dungarees with a pocket zipper, the start of my cozy clothes.

I vacuumed this morning. That high pitched squeal you might hear is my sloth complaining. I feel it’s pain.

The rain started last night. I could hear it hit the barbecue. It was still raining when I went to bed. The morning is dark and quite humid. I’ve left the house dark. It seems the right way to acknowledge the day. More rain is predicted. The weather lends itself to a lazy day.

My dance card is empty this week. I guess I’ll have to vacuum, no excuse not to tidy the house.

When I was a kid, I got excited as school got closer. By this time, I had everything I needed for school, a new pencil case, crayons, lunchbox, school bag, school shoes and new parts of my uniform, a new skirt, blouse and blue tie. I remember the night before school. We had baths, an oddity on a Monday night. Afterwards, I’d take out my new school supplies and organize my school bag. My mother took our lunch boxes to the kitchen. In the morning she’d make sandwiches and add dessert. We got the best desserts, Hostess desserts, during the first week of school. I think it was my mother’s way to soften the blow, to make school a tiny bit appealing. Bologna with mayo was usually the sandwich. Sometimes there were chips.

I used to keep my lunch box under my desk chair. I loved Hostess cupcakes. I was a chocolate hound. I had a method for eating the cupcakes. I’d save the thick frosting top for last. First I’d eat the cupcake around the inside cream then eat the cream. The frosting was thick and had that white swirl cross the middle. It was always in one piece. My mother would give us milk money just before we left. The walk to school was short. The wait in the schoolyard for the bell seemed shorter. Once we were in the building, the school year had officially started. We were caught in the school trap. One day down.