The dogs and I are lounging in the air conditioning. The heat is brutal. It is 88°, far too hot for this time of year. Nala went out, sniffed the air but then decided to come right back inside the house. It did rain around 3:30 this morning but only for a short time. The forecast is for more rain, but I am a skeptic. The sun is high, the sky is blue.

The deck flowers are beautiful. The begonias are huge. I chose a variety of colors to put in pots across the deck rail. I think the pink is the brightest. The basil is ready for picking. The lavender and the rosemary smell the best. I run my hand up each plant to press the smell onto my fingers.

When I was growing up, I never learned to cook beyond a hot dog, canned soup or a hamburger. In Ghana, I baked cookies for the first time, sugar cookies for Christmas. My mother had sent me cookie cutters and colored sprinkles so I figured I’d give baking a try. The first thing I had to do was travel 100 miles south to a town called Tamale (tarm a lay) to fill the gas cylinder. My town had no gas so I didn’t use my stove but rather cooked food on a small charcoal burner. I hauled the cylinder onto a bus. The trip took around two and a half hours each way. In Tamale I found a station, had the gas can filled then hauled the heavy canister onto another bus for the ride home. When I got back to Bolga, I took a taxi to my house, no way could I have hauled the heavy canister through town and up the hill to my school. I used a beer bottle to roll the dough, cut trees and stockings then baked the cookies. I was surprised. They were delicious. They made the trek worthwhile.

I loved my mother’s brownies. One bite was a burst of chocolate. She sometimes added chocolate chips to the batter and always frosted her brownies with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles. I liked the crisp corners.

This is a busy week for me and my uke. I just wish it were cooler.

The air conditioner is cooling the house. Nala has stopped panting. Clouds cover the sky, but no rain is predicted. The high will be 80°. I do have to go out for two necessities of life, bread and cream, but I have nothing else I need to do.

This morning I was up early, early for me. I took my time. My first cup of coffee was paired with the paper. My usual opening for the day. Later I had my second cup and a bagel with cream cheese. I watched the last episode of season 2 of Star Trek Strange New Worlds as the new season starts this month. You can’t have a better morning.

My parents were always the youngest parents. My mother was twenty when I was born as was my father, but he turned twenty-one a few months later. My mother always claimed I was the smartest baby, but what mother doesn’t make that claim. What mother would ever say I gave birth to a stupid kid? My baby book is filled. I walked at nine months, said my first sentences before my second birthday and loved Golden Books. My favorite book was Chicken Little. Years ago my mother gave me my baby book. I put it away for safe keeping, but I don’t remember where, typical of me as I have many missing items in safe keeping.

I had a diary when I was a kid. It had been a Christmas present. The diary was faux red leather and had a lock. On the front was a picture of a girl, a teenager by the looks of her, writing in the diary. When I first got my diary, I wrote in it every day. I wrote about what was happening, where I went and what I did. I was young so there was no discussion of romantic entanglements. I never gave thought as to whether my days were worth chronicling. I just figured they were.

When I was in Ghana, I didn’t keep a journal, but I wrote long aerograms and filled every available space. I wrote about my every day. I described my town and going to the market. I wrote about my students. I even wrote about food and what I ate for meals. I knew everything would be interesting to my family and friends at home, but, to me, it was just every day living. I have a few of those letters. I read them every now and then. I don’t need them to help me remember as my memories of Ghana are so clear. I read them to keep in touch with the younger me and my life in Ghana filled with wonder and the joy of every day.

Coffee has become my diary, one I lovingly share.

Mother Nature continues to be kind. Right now it is 81° with a forecast of partly sunny and partly cloudy. I always wonder why the weatherman needs to say both. I figure if it is partly cloudy then it must also be partly sunny. What else could it be? The breeze is strong and cooling.

Today is a lazy day. I could do some chores, but I won’t. The dogs have set the tone, both are sleeping.

When I was a kid, we often went to the beach on Sundays. My mother packed the picnic basket, gathered the towels, pails and shovels and a blanket for sitting on the sand. My father made the bug juice. My favorite picnic dish was my mother’s peppers and eggs. It was a recipe from my aunt. She cooked them just before we left. She had a secret ingredient, a bit of tomato sauce. We ate the peppers and eggs in rolls. It was always the first thing I grabbed to eat. My mother also made sandwiches, packed potato chips and cookies for dessert, usually Oreos. My mother never swam. She only walked along the shore line or sat on the blanket keeping an eye on my sisters. She never learned how to swim. My dad, though, was a great swimmer. He taught us to swim.

In the late afternoon, we’d pack up to go home and trudge to the car over the hot sand and the hot parking lot. We helped carry stuff. At the car, we had to sit on the seat with our feet dangling outside so my father could wash off the sand. He had this thing about sand in the car.

Sunday night we were all tired from a day in the sun and swimming in the ocean. We usually fell asleep early. I have this weird memory of falling asleep with one side of my head on the pillow and feeling warm water drain from my ear. I figured I brought some of the ocean home with me.

If I invented a morning, it would be today’s morning. The sky is so blue it looks like a painting by an artist with an eye for color. The air is cooled by a slight breeze. The sun is eye squintingly bright. The backyard is in shadows with the sun glinting through the leaves. My coffee is hot and strong. I’m on cup two. I had a bagel with cream cheese. Everything is perfect.

When I woke up, I was the rose between the thorns, the cream inside the cookies, the silver lining. The dogs were on either side of me. I couldn’t move. They were comfortable. Such is a dog’s life in my house.

When I was a kid, Saturday was a sacred day. It didn’t matter the season. The whole day was mine, at least until bath time. In winter I went to the movies or ice skated or sledded it there was snow. In summer I roamed sometimes on foot but mostly on my bike. Every Saturday started with Rice Krispies and the TV. Even when I became an adult, Saturday stayed sacred. I never did school work. Saturday night I’d be with friends either having a game night or a movie night. Saturday was always fun.

I loved my town’s library. I was a frequent visitor. It had a children’s side and an adult’s side. I graduated from the child’s side to the other side when I entered high school. The tables and chairs were all wooden on both sides. Round tables and short tables were on the children’s side while long tables were on the other side. I remember old people sitting on chairs in the periodical room reading magazines and newspapers. I never did. I was there for books. On school nights, the chairs and tables were filled with high school kids supposedly doing homework. Going to the library was a perfect way out of the house on a school night. I didn’t know most of the kids. They went to Stoneham High. They were there to meet up, to be social and pretend to be studying. I was just there for the books.

I have a quiet few days, nothing on my dance card. Next week, though, is heavy with uke. I have my usual practice and lesson plus three concerts. This week the music is about funny foods.

My plans for the day are simple. I have to water the deck plants. After that, I figure I’ll stay outside and read the day away. Maybe I’ll even nap on the lounge chair and enjoy the sun and the cool breeze. I suspect the dogs will join me on the deck and nap in the sun.

Happy July 4th!

I have a traditional musing for today, but I figured I’d give you an update first. Last night was light blanket weather. The earlier morning had kept the chill, but it is now 70°. The yard is bathed in sunlight. The birds are the only sounds I hear. I have a uke concert in Hyannis this afternoon. We’ll be playing Songs Across America with a rousing patriotic set at the end. 

I just love birthdays and today is the grandest of them all. 

On July 3rd 1776, John Adams wrote a letter to his wife Abigail. In it, he predicted the celebrations for American Independence Day, including the parties:

“It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other.”

John Adams expected July 2nd to be Independence Day as that was the day the Second Continental Congress voted for independence, but the signing ceremony for the Declaration of Independence didn’t happen until two days later on July 4th, the date listed on the document. That is why July 4th is our Independence Day.

I know some people complain that the meaning of the day is lost in the barbecues and the fireworks, but they have forgotten John Adams’ hope. We are honoring the day exactly as he wished. Flags are waving everywhere. Families get together to celebrate and to break bread, albeit hot dog rolls. Fireworks illuminate the sky. Baseball is played on small town fields and in huge stadiums. Drums beat the cadence in parades. We sing rousing songs celebrating America and our freedom. We also sing heartfelt songs about what America means to us. We are many sorts of people, we Americans. We don’t all look the same, practice the same religion, eat the same foods or dress in the same way, but we all celebrate today.

“You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4th, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism.” Happy Birthday, America, from all of us Americans.

The weather has been close to perfection. The last few days have been in the low 80’s while the nights have been in the 60’s, perfect sleeping weather. Today we have a breeze.

Yesterday I planted the rest of the deck flowers. I cleaned the furniture. Today I’ll water those plants, and when it gets cooler, I’ll sit outside under the umbrella, book in one hand, lemonade in the other. It is sloth time.

Today I could sweep the house, but I won’t. I’ll just let the tumbleweeds whirl in the air as I walk. I do have an errand, but I’ll wait until the air is cooler.

Yesterday, wonders appeared as if by magic. Close to sunset the sky was pink all across the west, and the pink spread everywhere, the house next door, in between the trees in the backyard and through my windows. The color drew me to the deck where I stayed until the sun set and the day began to darken, but the wonder continued. I saw the first fireflies in my backyard flitting around the pine trees and the tall grass. I stayed and watched and smiled the whole time I was outside.

In the paper today, a small article mentioned the Milky Way will appear all this month. Billions of stars in a band of light will arc across the sky. I was reminded of Ghana. I had never so many stars as those in the Ghanaian night sky. I could see the Milky Way, the dusty trail of stars, every night. The starlight made for shadows. There were falling stars, and I made a wish on each one. I slept outside on a mattress and fell asleep to the beauty of the night.

Some time last night or early this morning it rained. The ground was wet, and there were some drops on the back door or I wouldn’t have known. Yesterday I planted the deck flowers so I’m glad for the rain, but Mother Nature is taunting us. She is exacting a high price for rain. The air is so humid you can see and feel it. It is almost stifling. The breeze just stirs the air. Light rain is predicted, but I am a skeptic.

Sometimes I think about classmates from grammar school. We were together for eight years. I know some have gone to their heavenly rewards (euphemism for departed, passed, died, unalive, the silliest one I think, gone to a better place, my least favorite, expired, better fitted for cans and such, late, reminds me of the White Rabbit, and the worst of them, kicked the bucket). I wonder where Elaine Clapper is. What about Eleanor Garland? It was Marty Barrett who prompted my promise to myself to travel. Michelle Wells is another. There was a Dwayne somebody. I know there are so many I don’t remember. My graduation picture hangs on the bathroom wall over the sink. That sounds strange I know, but that bathroom has a school theme, probably also strange.

I love summer nights. When I was a kid, I could hear the neighbors through the screens. I could hear mumbled conversations and loud TV’s. I could hear the chirping crickets and the katydids. The man in the moon had two expressions. He was either smiling or his mouth was open in surprise. I always wondered what was on the dark side. Stars filled the sky and lightened the night. I always wished on a falling star.

I still love the nights. I’m up most nights until the wee hours. When the dogs go out before bed, I often stand on the deck and watch them. It is quiet. The house behind mine always has one light on. A house further down also has a light in one room. My house is well lit, even the outside light. I always think I own the night.