Summer is gone. Today is chilly and damp. We’re back to sweatshirt weather. Rain is predicted, but the clouds seem too bright. I suppose they’ll darken later.

There is something about Sunday mornings which holds me in thrall. I take my time getting up. As the coffee brews, I watch the birds at the feeders from inside the kitchen window. Henry goes out, and I go get the Sunday papers, come back inside, grab a cup of coffee and then start my reading fest. After a bit, it’s time for my weekly call to my sister in Colorado. We often talk during the week, but Sunday is our day nonetheless. We talk an hour sometimes. When we’re done, I grab a cup of coffee and go back to my papers. By the time I sit down to my computer, it’s nearly one o’clock. I am always surprised by the time.

I watch TV, not as much as Chance the Gardener, but I watch. I also bitch and moan. Even with a zillion stations, I sometimes find nothing to watch. HGTV is one of my stations of last resort. I’ve watched so much I can now throw around phrases like curb appeal, focal point and window treatment. I know to look for hardwood floors, a master suite, stainless steel, tile and granite or its ilk. Mirrors will make the room look bigger. Neutral colors are best.

I always think spring smells fresh like the air after a rainstorm. Summer is flowers and grass. Fall will always be burning leaves. Winter smells are all inside. They’re Christmas and cookies and dinner in the oven. Sometimes the wonderful smell of the ocean makes it as far as my house. Usually it comes in the morning air. I can smell rain long before the first drops fall, and I swear snow has a smell that comes with that eerie light just before a storm. I love the smell of burning candles. Last night it was cinnamon and before that it was coconut. My sister gave me small squares of peat and a stone block to hold the burning embers. I was reminded of the old b&b in Youghal Ireland. It was springtime and cold and damp. We were the only guests. The owner lit a peat fire in the grate in the dining room. The smell of peat filled the room. It stuck to my clothes. I could smell it even when I got home and opened my suitcase. The smell of burning wood always brings me back to Ghana. For that, it is one of my favorite smells.

When I went to get the papers, I was surprised at how warm it is. The sun is out, but there are clouds. Rain is coming tomorrow. Today will be a pleasant day.

YouTube has been my go to station lately. I’ve watched black and white science fiction and a few disaster movies. I’ve also watched some Peace Corps videos posted by trainees and volunteers. I envy those just starting out in training. They have a most interesting two years ahead of them, two years they will forever treasure. I remember my training. We were the first group to train entirely in country. Our first stop was Winneba for two weeks. My room was on the second floor. I remember the first morning when I was standing by the rail outside my room for my first up close look at Africa. I saw palm trees, thick green undergrowth and tin roofs. During those two weeks we went to meet the chief of Winneba. I can’t imagine what the Ghanaians were thinking when they saw all of these white people walking through their village. It must have been a strange parade.

Training lasted nearly three months. We ate Ghanaian food nobody identified for us. I remember a lot of green which I later found out was kontomire, never a favorite. We got shots, a multitude of shots. We Upper Region trainees finished our live-ins with our Ghanaian families then traveled by ourselves from one end of Ghana to the other to Koforidua and the rest of training. During the three weeks in Koforidua we got together many nights at a spot, a Ghanaian term for a bar, for beer, conversation and mostly companionship. In my mind’s eye, I can still see that spot on the corner of the main road. We hitched to Accra for the weekend. We got one ride all the way. By the end of training, we were comfortable riding tro-tros, walking all over Accra and eating all sorts of strange foods. Ghana had stopped being a foreign country.

I could have gone to law school or accepted a teaching position, but I chose the Peace Corps. For a long time it had been my only real choice. The other two were backup plans I hoped never to use. I remember a January afternoon my senior year in college when the doorbell rang. It was a postman with a special delivery manila envelope for me. On the upper left corner was the return address. It was from Peace Corps. I tore that sucker open and found out I was going to Ghana. I was beyond thrilled. I was joyful. I still feel the same way!

Yesterday was summer. It reached 80˚. I even sat on the deck a while. All those nights in the 30’s disappeared from memory. Today is already warm.

My friends came to dinner last night. They brought a chew bone and a toy for Henry. He wasn’t all that welcoming. He even growled, but that didn’t stop him from eating the bone. Henry is still bit skittish with new people. He allowed patting, but his face gave away his emotions. Henry wasn’t happy.

Dinner was delicious. I enjoy cooking but it has been a while. Luckily, I haven’t lost my touch. My flow chart worked perfectly. I was able to sit with my friends and enjoy some appetizers: shrimp, including barbecue shrimp, and an antipasto plate. For dinner we had mashed potatoes (according to the recipe the best mashed potatoes ever, and they lived up to the hype), glazed baby carrots and marinated lamb chops. Dessert was first a fig filled with chocolate ganache and covered in dark chocolate then coconut ice cream with a sea salt caramel sauce. My friends cleaned up after dinner, the best gift of all.

My father was the official barbecue chef, not unusual as men tend to the fire, a leftover skill I suppose from cavemen. He used a hibachi. He’d sit outside, have a drink or two and keep an eye on the meat. My mother made her potato salad. The meat varied. There was chicken, or sausage, including Chinese sausage, steak tips and once in a while pork chops. When I was a kid, it was always hot dogs and hamburgers.

Before he bought a hibachi, my father had a regular size grill. He’d load it with briquets then use charcoal fluid to help along the briquets. He was a believer in the more fluid the quicker the fire. I can remember hearing a whoosh and then seeing a flame rise into the air from the grill. I remember when the cuff of my father’s pants caught on fire. He got off his chair and stomped around. He also kept a canvas tarp near him to smother the flames which were inevitable. Amazingly, my father always cooked the meat perfectly.

Some days are just right. Today is one of them. The sun is bright and warm. All of the rain from yesterday has nearly dried. Nothing is moving: the day is still. Henry woke me at 6 when he went downstairs. That always means he wants out. I went down and opened the door. Henry went out the dog door. I went back upstairs. I looked out the bedroom window and saw him under the pine trees, Gracie’s favorite poo spot. It seems to be his as well. He finished and then ran toward the back door. I saw a flash of white. He runs at breakneck speed. I went back to bed and shortly thereafter he joined me. We both slept for nearly three more hours. My coffee was delicious this morning. It is the same coffee I’ve had the last week, Kona coffee, but today it was perfect. I toasted a breakfast roll then checked out the fridge for jam or jelly. I found an almost empty jar with a fig spread. I put it on one side of the roll. After one bite, I knew why there was so little left. It is delicious. I filled in the crossword and figured out the cryptoquip. I love today so far.

Today is an errand day, but I don’t mind the four stops. They get me out of the house into the sunshine. I tend to get complacent. It is just so easy to stay home relaxed and comfy.

My house is still filled with clumps of white dog hair. It doesn’t matter how much I clean. The clumps return. Mostly they are in this room and down the hall though I did see a few in the dining room. They were moved by the slight breeze when I walk by them. I’m thinking inside tumbleweeds.

Today is May Day. It is a day to dance and eat cake. It is a day of promise. Spring is really here giving us warmer weather and longer days. Today we celebrate flowers coming to life. There used to be traditions. Baskets of flowers were left by front doors. There was dancing around the Maypole. I think it is time to bring back flowers and dancing. Lord knows we need the joy.

The clouds are still here, and it may rain later or even sooner as the clouds are getting darker. Every now and then the sun pops out but not for long. It is in the mid-50’s. The rest of the week is supposed to be warmer, even reaching the 60’s by Wednesday. We’re getting closer to deck weather.

Some days I just feel lazy. I used to feel guilty being unproductive, but long ago I learned to revel in the sheer luxury of doing nothing. What are you up to today you ask. Well, I will definitely wash up and brush my teeth, but then I’m done. Oops, I do have to fill the bird feeders, but, after that, I’m really done. I have a book, a few new magazines and a very comfy couch. I also have a whoopie pie from the bakery. Sounds like heaven to me.

In my backyard are several clumps of violets. I planted a couple of the flowers and they spread. I dug the original violets from my mother’s yard. They and lilies of the valley grew along the stone wall in the back behind her house. I also have her lilies growing. They are in a bed next to the driveway. The violets are already blooming, and they always remind me of my mother.

The peepers are back. Last night I heard them from near the small pond at the end of the street. They are a spring sound, a welcome sound.

I have always found it amazing how much louder the world gets in the spring. When I was a kid, walking to school in winter was a chore, a chore done quickly with little conversation. Getting from one warm place to the other, even if one was school, was the only thing on our minds. Nobody yelled in winter. We used all our energies to stay warm. But, with the first hint of spring, the world changed. Off went the heavy coats, and we took our time going to school, chatting and laughing the whole way. Birds greeted us and made the morning beautiful. People lingered and said good morning. After school, we played outside, and kids’ voices could be heard again all over the neighborhood. We had woken up just as the flowers and the birds had; we were just louder.

When I woke up, it was a bright, sunny morning. I went outside for the papers, and, on the way back, I checked out the garden as I usually do. A cluster of daffodils has bloomed. They are white and yellow, delicate and beautiful. Since then the sun has  disappeared. The once pretty day has darkened and rain is predicted.

When I was a kid, Sunday in the summer was often beach day. My mother packed the lunch, we jumped in the car, and my dad drove to Gloucester, to Wingaersheek Beach. We went early so he could find a good parking space. Each of us hauled stuff from the car to the beach, to the spot my dad had chosen. The blanket went down. Two corners were weighted, one by the picnic basket and the other by the Tartan thermos. My brother and I rushed to the water followed by my dad. My mother settled on the blanket. My sisters pulled out their pails and shovels. They only strayed from near the blanket to wade in the shallow water close to shore or to walk the beach to find seashells. My mother went with my sisters to keep an eye on them. My mother never swam. She never learned how. My father was the best swimmer I ever saw.

The house is chilly. I lowered my heat setting this week as I was horrified at how often the furnace came on in almost May. But even with my sweatshirt on, I am a bit cold so I’ll give in and turn on the heat to 68˚, my go to temperature.

Old habits do die hard. I still reach for the comics first in the Sunday papers. They were all I read when I was a kid. Those comic strips, though, are mostly gone. I remember The Phantom. He was big and muscular and wore grey. A black mask hid his eyes. Steve Canyon was in the air force. I remember his uniform and his plane. Dondi was a war orphan. Henry was a bald kid. I liked Little Lulu, her red dress and her hair-do. She never changed. Her friend was Tubby, shaped like his name. None of them ever grew older. Kids in comic strips never did. One of my all time favorites was Snuffy Smith, a hillbilly. His wife, Loweezy, wore a red dress and a black kerchief. For sure there were far more comic strips, but these stand out in my memory drawers. I have no idea why.

The sun is back. The day is so much brighter. My heat went on so the house is warm. I just got a fresh cup of coffee. I’m in a paradise of sorts. I keep smiling.

The sky is blue and the sun is shining, a pretty day. It was cloudy when I first woke up so I stayed in bed a while, but Henry was impatient so I was forced to get up and let him outside. He is now staying away from me as I took his collar off to add his new name tag and he is not happy. He keeps eyeing the couch but doesn’t get on it, too close to me. I haven’t dared to put on his new halter. He’d run away from home.

I only thing on my dance card today is the bird feeders. They need to be filled. I bought a bag of sunflower seeds the other day so I’m all set.

When I was a kid, a day like today meant exploring on my bike. I knew all the best places  in my town. The dairy farm was a bit far from my house but well worth the pedaling. The cows were usually in the pasture. They were black and white. Much later I found out they were Holsteins. This time of year there was mud all over the ground outside the barn. It was churned and filled with hoof prints. The cows wandered through.

Sometimes I’d go to the zoo. It was small and filled with cages and fenced in hills for the deer. The draw was the elephant. I even got to feed it inside its enclosure. I had befriended one of the zoo workers, and I got to feed the animals. I’d open the backs of the cages and put their food inside. I always felt special feeding the animals.

I used go to the golf course to find errant golf balls. A few were across the street from the course but most were in the trees and the water. I liked the way golf balls bounced, and I liked the sound they made when I bounced them on the road.

Sometimes I’d bring my lunch, usually a sandwich, mostly a bologna sandwich, and Oreo cookies for dessert. I’d stop at the town hall and sit on the benches. I’d watch people walking uptown to shop. I always hoped for a fire alarm so I could watch the engines barrel down the street with lights blinking and siren blowing. I never thought about there actually being a fire. I just wanted the drama.

I’d get home in the late afternoon. My mother would ask where I’d been. I always answered just around.

Today isn’t pretty. It’s cloudy, and rain is expected in the afternoon, but for some unknown reason I like today. I slept late then read the papers. My Kona coffee was delicious. When Henry went out, I stood on the deck a while and watched him. The air was warm. It was filled with birds sounds. The mourning doves were the loudest. At the feeders, the bright yellow goldfinches flew in and out as did the chickadees. A gray spawn of Satan jumped from branch to branch. Henry went inside without me. I followed him. It was time to feed him and Maddie. When that was done, I asked Alexa (the x doesn’t work either-I copied and pasted) to play traditional folk. As I read my e-mail, Peter, Paul and Mary was her first choice. That was perfect.

Today is dump day. Henry doesn’t yet know the joy of a dump run, one of Gracie’s favorite trips. When she’d see trash go outside, she could barely contain herself. Henry sits on the couch and watches. I need to get him car happy before we do rides together.

My father loved his dump. It was a different time back then, no recycling. The dump was just huge piles of trash you drove around while looking for a spot to empty your barrels. Seagulls flew in circles around the piles and squawked and wailed. Others walked all over the trash looking for food. My dad always dumped his trash on the weekend. If I were home from school, he’d invite me to go with him. If I had a friend with me for the weekend, I was second fiddle, and my friend got the invite. My father thought the invite was special, a sharing of one of his favorite places.

Having a puppy is a whole difference experience. Henry doesn’t walk. He runs and sounds like a thundering herd. He jumps on the couch. He bolts up the outside backstairs so fast he skips steps. He is a vacuum when he eats. I doubt he even chews. My whole bed shakes when he does his running leap from the hall to get on the bed. His tail whips back and forth when he is happy. Henry is the first dog I’ve ever had with a long tail. I got face whacked the other day. I learned a lesson.

My keyboard has a bad key. I cannot type an H. I have to copy and paste one from a sheet where I have small and capitalized h’s. It is driving me crazy. I looked up solutions but none worked. My friend minicapt was always my MAC guy. He’d give me the solutions which usually solved the problems. Now I’ll have to take this to the Apple store. I would have a dog named Henry.

It poured yesterday. The rain was so heavy it drowned out every sound except the pounding on the roof. It reminded me of rain falling on the tin roof of my house in Ghana. I loved it.

Today is cloudy and damp, but it feels warm. Nothing is stirring, not a branch, not a leaf. The trees in the backyard are still winter bare. They are framed by the cloudy sky and look like silhouettes.

My front garden has hyacinths blooming. They are pink, blue and purple. On the forsythia the yellow buds are almost flowers. I am hungry for their color.

My dog has mastered the dog door, coming and going. The remaining problem is he hasn’t yet figured out he can go whenever he wants. Henry goes up and down the hall a few times which prompts my asking if he needs out. That’s like giving permission so out he goes.

My larder is still full including my freezer, but the food just hasn’t tickled my taste buds. Last night I drove to Dennisport and bought Thai food. The coconut shrimp was my favorite. I also bought chicken satay, scallion pancakes and a noodle dish with vegetables. I have enough for my supper tonight. My taste buds are happy.

I am watching The Day Time Ended. A family is living in the desert in a solar house. An alien construction appears and disappears. Green lights shine in a couple of rooms. A tiny green alien appears to the grandmother and the granddaughter. Lights fly toward the house from the sky. Aliens fight each other outside the house and try to get inside to kill the family. A UFO saves the family by transporting them to the future. They are still in the desert. They leave the safety of their house and begin riding horses across the desert. They see their missing son-in-law, daughter and granddaughter and a domed city. They are saved. I lasted through this entire movie. There must be some sort of a award.

The clouds are nearly gone. I can see the sun and a blue sky. Maybe it will be good day after all.